Unforeseen
by cmee57
Summary: Unforeseen- not anticipated or predicted. What happens to Christopher Foyle when he visits the States in his pursuit to bring Howard Paige to justice? It may not be what he planned.
1. Chapter 1

Unforeseen- Chapter One

 **Disclaimer-** _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is a product of my own imagination_ _._

Unforeseen- not anticipated or predicted. What happens to Christopher Foyle when he visits the States in his pursuit to bring Howard Paige to justice? It may not be what he planned.

 **Note to readers** \- This is a re-write of the long dormant story "Faux Pas"

* * *

Early 1946- New York City

Rachel Roberts ran like mad to board her train before it began to move out of Grand Central Station. She'd spent far too long looking for just the right book to buy at one of the terminal's several newsstands. She just managed to board her assigned passenger car before the conductor closed the door and the train pulled away from the station.

Rachel landed in her seat with an unlady like "plop", loud enough to draw the attention of the man seated across from her. He looked over the newspaper he'd been reading to see a breathless, young woman with dark auburn hair holding a handbag in one hand and a book in the other. Her hat was askew and long tendrils of hair had escaped from its confines. As her breathing slowed, the young woman closed her eyes and gave thanks to Heaven that she hadn't missed the train.

" _Green, her eyes are the color of emeralds,"_ the man observed to himself. " _Probably the same age as Sam._ " Unlike Samantha Stewart, this young woman was short, probably no more than 5 feet tall. An amused half smile spread across his face for the briefest of moments when he noticed that the toes of her shoes barely touched the floor.

Without intending to, Rachel fell asleep. As her body relaxed, her hands released their hold, first on the book and then on her handbag. Any minute gravity would gain the upper hand and they would certainly fall from her lap. Unsure of how soundly she was sleeping, he was afraid he might startle her if he tried to keep them from falling.

The train rounded a curve and placed the matter beyond question when both the book and the handbag hit the floor. The book slid around and came to rest under his seat. The contents of her handbag – a tube of lipstick, comb, embroidered handkerchief and wallet- made a rolling procession down the aisle of the car. He put the newspaper down and leaned forward to rise from his seat to reach under it and retrieve the book. His effort was met by a stunning smack to his forehead by a hard object. A few seconds passed before he realized that the hard object was the young woman's forehead. She had leaned forward at the same instant and collided with him.

Too stunned to speak, Foyle's head began to throb and he hesitated to move lest it start hurting more than it already did.

"Ow! What the he…heck?" Rachel opened her eyes. She was nose to nose with a stranger and a man at that! "Uh…ah…wha…happened?" She blinked several times but didn't move away as an odd thought raced through her head. " _Mmm…his eyes are a lovely shade of blue. Oh my God! What am I doing? He must think I'm an idiot!"_

As she backed away from him, the young woman stammered, "Oh Sweet Jesus! I'm so…so sorry Mister…"

"Foyle," he responded, leaning back into his seat while rubbing his forehead.

His voice was pleasant and kind, considering what she'd just done to him and she noticed that his accent was British. Rachel wondered if she had really butted heads with him or fallen down a rabbit hole. "Huh?"

"Foyle," he repeated, growing concerned that the young woman had gotten the worst of their cranial collision. "Miss, are you alright?"

She rubbed the goose egg that was beginning to form on her forehead. "I guess so. My daddy said I was hard headed." When Rachel noticed that Foyle's gaze had remained steady on her, she felt her face grow hot and red with embarrassment. Tears began to form in her eyes and she blinked hard to keep them at bay.

" _Quite an interesting shade of crimson. Never saw anything like it before. Wonder if she always blushes like this when embarrassed?"_ He handed her his handkerchief. "Here, I think you might need this. Your name, by the way?"

She answered with a muffled and barely audible, "Rachel…Rachel Roberts" and then wiped her moist cheeks with his handkerchief. Once finished, Rachel held the linen square in her hand, uncertain what to do with it so she began to nervously twist it around her fingers.

" _An aspirin would not go amiss right now. I wonder if Rachel Roberts' head hurts as much a mine._ " He gingerly touched his forehead and felt it for any swelling. It was tender, but not swollen. "Miss Roberts?"

Not ready to look him in the face, she made a close study of her hands and answered, "Yes?"

"Do you need an aspirin?" He rubbed his head and continued, "I know I do. I'll look for the conductor and see if he can get us some."

Rachel finally looked up at him. The embarrassment she felt started to recede, the heat of it finally leaving her face. Just as it seemed she'd finally calmed down, an unbidden hiccup betrayed her. She saw him trying to keep a straight face to the hide his amusement and closed her eyes tight, willing her face not to turn red again. "Yes, thank you. I could use an aspirin."

After he got up to search for the conductor, Rachel opened her eyes. What once promised to be a pleasant train ride from New York to Washington had turned into a disaster. She wondered what Mr. Foyle's opinion of American women must be now that he'd literally bumped heads with one. What was the worst part of the whole sorry little episode was that he was, at least by her guess, a good deal older than her and probably thought she was just a clumsy kid. If he'd been a man her age, she felt she might have been able to laugh and joke about what happened. Well, there was little she could do about it other than apologize, which she'd already done.

Foyle returned a few minutes later with the aspirin and two glasses of water. Rachel took two of the aspirin tablets with one gulp of water and sputtered as one of the tablets didn't quite make it down her throat. Finally, the cursed thing went down and she took a long, slow sip of water to make doubly sure of it.

" _Wonder if she does everything so suddenly? Could come to harm that way."_ He dismissed the thought with a slight shake of his head. Why should he be so concerned about a young woman who accidentally bumped heads with him?

"I was wondering where my book went?" Rachel's question stirred him from his thoughts.

Foyle bent over and retrieved the book from under his seat. As she reached to take it from him, he noticed a long, puckered scar on her right hand. His fingers accidentally brushed against it and she pulled back. He inclined his head toward her hand. "I'm sorry Miss Roberts, have I hurt your hand?"

"No, it really…doesn't… hurt anymore. I guess I'm just self-conscious about it. Don't know why, it's been there for nearly five years." Rachel immediately let the subject drop; it was too painful to relive the memories of how the scar came to be. "Now that I've got my book, what about my handbag?"

He chewed the inside of his cheek before answering her question. "May not be quite as easy to locate as the book. When it fell out of your lap it sprung open and the contents are scattered all over this car."

She stood up and swayed, almost falling in his lap. Foyle reached out to grab her, but Rachel righted herself without his assistance and then went out into the aisle to search for her handbag and its contents. She found the handbag first and proceeded to look for the other items. As she knelt down in her search, he lost sight of her a moment and was beginning to wonder if she had passed out on the floor. To his great relief, after a few minutes she popped back up, triumphantly holding her handbag. "I found everything but the lipstick. No great loss. Didn't like the color anyway."

Foyle quickly got up and guided Rachel back to her seat. He wanted no more falls, bumps or accidents of any kind that involved the young woman in his proximity. Maybe they could both sit in their respective places and simply converse. Or he would return to reading his newspaper and she would…What would she do?

She waited for him to say something, anything. When she opened her mouth to speak, Rachel promptly clamped it shut, petrified of making a verbal faux pas to compound the physical one she'd already made by bashing heads with the man. " _Oh say something Mr. Foyle. Anything. Like "nice weather we're having" or "good thing that the train's on schedule"._

Anything that Christopher Foyle might have anticipated happening that day had been eclipsed by his sudden encounter with the young woman seated across from him. The copy of the _New York Times_ he'd been reading before she bounded onto the train lay neglected on the seat next to him. What on earth could he talk to her about? With Sam he had something in common- police work. Making casual conversation with a woman half his age and an American at that had not been on his agenda that morning as he boarded the train; there were more serious matters calling for his attention.

Rachel decided to relieve him of the burden of starting the conversation. She decided that she'd already made a fool of herself with the man, why worry about how he would respond to her? "I'm headed to Washington. What's your destination, Mr. Foyle? If you don't mind me asking."

"I don't. And I'm going to Washington as well."

"I see. Will this be your first visit there?" As soon as she finished the question, Rachel could have kicked herself. _What a dumb question! For all she knew he could have been in the country for years and live in Washington!_

"Yes."

"Me, too." Rachel now wished she'd kept her mouth shut. " _Oh God, this is awkward. Should I continue to ask him questions or just hush? Oh well, I give up. I tried. Best not make things worse."_ She closed her eyes and wished that she could evaporate. Why did she feel so nervous around him and why should she care what he thought of her? They would both be off the train and out of each other's lives forever soon enough.

When Rachel closed her eyes, Foyle took it as a sign that she had nothing more to say. For some reason, this disappointed him. Her simple questions held the promise of an easy, casual conversation; something he desperately needed to take his mind off the reason he'd come to the States, if only for a little while.

* * *

When Rachel closed her eyes she only intended to shut out the world, particularly Mr. Foyle, until the train arrived in Washington. However, sleep claimed her once more and a memory buried deep in her subconscious came to the surface as a hazy dream.

 _Saturday- December 6, 1941_

" _It matches your eyes. Let me buy it for you. Consider it an early Christmas present and…" He stopped mid-sentence to kiss her. The proprietress of the shop cleared her throat and the couple quickly disconnected from the kiss. "Wear it next Saturday, O.K.?"_

" _I sure will, Jimmy._ _Can't wait for that day to come."_

 _Jimmy planted a kiss on her forehead. "Me, too. It's gonna be a long, long week." He looked down into her green eyes and smiled. "But it'll be worth the wait."_

 _Not caring if the old bat who ran the hat shop approved or not, Rachel wrapped her arms around Jimmy's waist and rested her head on his chest. "Yeah, it sure will."_

* * *

After several attempts to resume reading the newspaper, Foyle gave up and tossed it on the seat next to him. There was nothing else to do but think about why he'd come to America or watch the young woman across from him as she slept. He opted for the second course of action.

Although asleep, there was nothing that appeared to be relaxed about her. Her hands tightly grasped the arms of her seat and a combination of grimaces and frowns flickered across her face. She tossed her head from side to side in what seemed like an attempt to cast off whatever unpleasantness was causing her such great distress while she slept. One toss too many caused her hat to fall off. He caught it in the palm of his hand just before it hit the floor. The label inside it immediately drew his attention. It wasn't the hat maker's name that caught his eye; it was the location- Honolulu. Rachel Roberts was a long way from the hat's origin.

Foyle's study of her hat was interrupted by a loud whimper and a cry of "it's all I have left, can't lose it, can't lose it!" Slowly, Rachel opened her eyes and lifted her right hand to touch her head, reaching for the hat. Panic set in as she realized it was no longer there. "Where's my hat? Oh God! Where is it?"

It quickly became obvious to Foyle that the hat was more than an article of clothing to the young woman. The panic in her voice told him that it connected her with something or someone she'd lost. He gently called to her, "Miss Roberts, I have your hat. No harm has come to it."

"Oh, thank God! I thought I'd lost it. Thank you." Rachel took the hat from his outstretched hand; carefully placing it on her lap. She stoked it lovingly and it seemed she was making sure it was really there. _"Mr. Foyle must think I'm crazy. Maybe I am."_

He inclined his head towards the object in her lap and observed, "That hat must mean a lot to you."

She looked up at him, her green eyes shining with tears. "Yes, yes it does. It was a gift from a…friend… a long time ago."

Although he was officially "retired", he was and would always be a policeman. Foyle knew he was already interested in Rachel Roberts and there would be no going back. She seemed troubled and vulnerable, but not weak. He would be reluctant to part company with her once they reached Washington. Did she need protecting or something else? He wasn't sure, but the more he thought about it, the more uneasy he felt about leaving her alone. " _This is not the reason I came to America. I have no obligation to her whatsoever."_

" _Really sir? You think so? You're already obligated and you know it! "_ Foyle sighed and ran a hand across his forehead as if he could make that voice go away. That _was_ Sam's voice in his thoughts. During the years Sam had been his driver, she'd come to know him very well.

"Mr. Foyle?" Rachel called out to him, but he seemed to be preoccupied. "Sir?"

The voice that called him "sir" the second time wasn't in his mind. It came from the woman seated across from him. " _Not one bit like Sam, short, dark hair, green eyes, different accent…and yet… Come on Foyle, pull yourself together and answer the young woman."_

He made a point to focus on her eyes and answered, "Yes?'

"Just wanted to thank you again for "catching" my hat. I would have been devastated if it had been lost. It's silly; I know it's just a hat."

He chewed on his bottom lip for a second before responding, "Not silly at all. It seems to have a special meaning for you."

She looked out the window for a moment and then turned back to face him. "Yes, yes it does." Rachel changed the subject. "I wonder how long it will be before we arrive in Washington."

"Shouldn't be long," he told her. "While you were sleeping the train stopped to let off passengers in Baltimore."

Rachel raked her fingers through her hair and sighed, "Oh good. I'm so ready to get off this train, although I shouldn't complain. This is just a "jump, skip and hop" compared to the cross country train ride I took a few years ago. As a girl in school I saw maps of the United States in textbooks, but I didn't realize how big this country really is until I traveled across it on a crowded train that took three days to get from San Francisco to home."

Where was home for Rachel Roberts? From the sound of her accent, she wasn't a native of New York. Somewhere in the South was Foyle's guess.

She read his mind. "I'm from the Holy City."

Foyle reacted to this information with a raised eyebrow and a puzzled look. Rachel to laugh. "Oh, I'm sorry. I should have been more straightforward. I'm from Charleston, South Carolina. People call it the "Holy City" because there are so many churches there."

" _That smile. Glad to see a little light in those green eyes."_ He returned her smile with one of his own. "I'm glad you clarified where that the "Holy City" was Charleston. I was about to question my knowledge of world geography."

"Oh Mr. Foyle, I'm so sorry for the confusion," Rachel told him in a solemn tone that didn't sound exactly sincere.

"No, you're not. You enjoyed it." He decided that he would tease her a little bit if it would keep the smile on her face and the light in her eyes a little longer. They certainly suited her better than the panic and sadness he'd seen earlier.

She mentally swatted away the second voice and followed the first one's lead. Rachel shrugged. "Yes, I confess I did. Been a long time since I've caused a man any sort of confusion. The look on your face was priceless."

He slumped just a little bit in his seat, crossing his arms and chewed on his bottom lip while he formulated what he would say to her next. "Miss Roberts, I…" He was interrupted by the conductor's announcement that they were pulling into Union Station.

"Yes Mr. Foyle, you were saying...?"

"Uh, um...looks like we've finally arrived in Washington." He wasn't sure if he was delighted or disappointed to be interrupted by the conductor.

Rachel was relieved at first and then a wave of sadness swept over her unexpectedly. She would never see this man again and for some reason she didn't understand, that was an undesirable state of affairs. " _At least I'll have this "souvenir" on my forehead to remember him by for a few days."_ A sigh sounding like a balloon deflating escaped her lips, followed by a frown that she didn't realize was there.

" _Oh, don't do that. Miss Roberts…Rachel, don't frown! Need to make sure you're alright. Just… don't… frown anymore!"_ Foyle proceeded to make busy by gathering up his newspaper, coat and hat. He needed the distraction to force himself to get up, get off the train and leave her.

Rachel stood up while he was still seated to avoid another "collision" with Foyle. She placed her handbag on her arm and grabbed her coat and hat. "Well Mr. Foyle, I'm glad I had the opportunity to meet you. I'm just sorry that it was in such a dramatic fashion." At the mere mention of the incident, she felt her face turn red.

By this time, Foyle was standing up and looking down at her. He realized that it was a rare occasion when he wasn't looking eye to eye with a woman. This fact and her blushing face delighted him. She had provided the respite, although brief that he needed in the serious business that had brought him to America.

As they exited the train, Foyle stepped out onto the platform first and reached up to help Rachel down the steps. Any notion of a graceful descent on her part was erased when she somehow managed to trip over her own two feet and fell out of the train. He managed to grab her and set her on her feet before she knocked him down.

She closed her eyes for a moment and mentally dared her body to show any signs of embarrassment. Finally, she looked up at him and sighed, "I did it again, didn't I?"

Foyle twisted his lip to the side for a few seconds and then responded, "No, you did something completely different. You nearly knocked me flat on the Union Station platform. Not…quite…the same."

"Uh, maybe it would be a good time to say "good bye" to each other and go our separate ways. Anyway, I've got to go get my luggage and look for a taxi. I just want to get to my hotel, I'm starving. Neglected to eat breakfast this morning." Just then her stomach growled, adding validity to her statement. She rolled her eyes and mentally cursed the digestive organ for not minding its own business. "Well good bye, Mr. Foyle. Hope all goes well for you while you're here." Before he could respond, she hurried off into the crowd.

He watched Rachel walked away, amazed at how fast the petite woman could move. Then he made his own way to pick up his luggage and find a taxi for himself.

Rain was falling as Rachel got to the taxi stand. It looked like she might not get one then and have to wait for who knew how long for the next one to arrive. The back passenger side door of the last taxi in line opened and a distinctive male voice called out, "Miss Roberts! Come get out of the rain."

Rachel hopped in the taxi so fast that she nearly landed in Foyle's lap before he moved over to give her room on the seat. "Thanks, I thought for sure I was gonna get soaked before another taxi came by."

The driver turned around to the couple and asked, "Where to folks?"

"The Hotel Harrington," Rachel and Foyle answered the driver simultaneously. They weren't going their separate ways just yet.

* * *

 **Note-** The Hotel Harrington opened in 1914 and is still family owned and operated. It is located in an area between the U.S. Capitol and the White House.

* * *

 **What a memorable meeting!**

 **Foyle is intrigued by Rachel. It will be even harder for him to want to say good bye to her now he's gotten to know a little bit about her, even though she nearly knocks him down getting off the train!**

 **Thanks so much for reading!**

 **TBC**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Unforeseen- not anticipated or predicted.

What happens to Christopher Foyle when he visits the States in his pursuit to bring Howard Paige to justice? It may not be what he planned.

 **Disclaimer-** _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. However, Rachel Roberts is a product of my own imagination_ _._

* * *

"Miss Roberts, you have room 714…Mr. Foyle, room 716." The hotel desk clerk handed them their room keys and added, "I hope you both have a pleasant stay with us."

As they follow the bellman to the elevator, a thought flashed through Foyle's mind that made him wonder if Rachel's collision with his forehead had knocked out the common sense he possessed. " _Could be a pleasant stay indeed…in Miss Robert's company_." The elevator door closed and Rachel looked up at him and smiled, as if she might be reading his mind. That smile encouraged him to ask, "Care to have dinner with me, Miss Roberts? Would 7 o'clock suit you?"

She was surprised and secretly delighted by his request. "Yes sir, that sounds fine. That would give us a couple of hours to rest and regroup." No sooner than she'd this, she began to ponder, " _Is this a date?_ " Her smile disappeared as her eyebrows knit together. " _Good Lord, no! Can't be! Mr. Foyle and I just met on a train and happen to be staying at the same hotel…same floor… He's just being polite….Not a date at all!"_

As Foyle watched Rachel's face he wondered, " _Does she regret saying "yes" to having dinner with me? Not exactly the effect on her you were looking for, was it Old Man? Does she think I might…?"_ The elevator arrived on the 7th floor, interrupting his self-interrogation.

* * *

Rachel was shown to her room first. Once alone, she flopped down on the bed while toeing off her shoes. Sinking down into a soft pillow, she placed her hands behind her head and told the ceiling, "Dinner with a man. Long time since I've done that. _"_

 _Saturday evening- December 6, 1941_

" _My sweet Rachel, smile for me- will ya?" Jimmy reinforced his request by running his thumb across her lips. "You know I've got to get back to the Arizona before my skipper sends out the Shore Patrol for me. He only gave me 12 hours shore leave today because I've got 48 hours coming to me next weekend for our wedding and a little honeymoon. I need your smile to tide me over until then." He chuckled and then added, "Besides, frowning is bad for the digestion."_

 _Looking down at her half eaten hamburger and soggy fried potatoes, she sighed, "I suppose you're right." Rachel kissed Jimmy's fingers and then graced him with the smile he asked for. "Is that better Seaman Dubose?"_

 _He leaned across the table and kissed her mouth, murmuring, "Oh yes, much better!"_

* * *

Foyle tossed his hat and coat on the bed before sitting down on its edge. He had a few free hours before dinner and while pondering what to do with them, an absent minded brush of his hand across his forehead provided him with a reminder of the eventful afternoon in the company of Rachel Roberts. Perhaps he should investigate the damage done when the two of them "bumped" into each other.

The mirror in the bathroom revealed very little in the way of an injury- no swelling or bruising. Instead he saw the face of a travel weary man who was beginning to wonder if the "accidental" meeting with the young woman would derail him from the purpose of his trip to the States. Rather than ponder the question, he decided to do something practical by taking a nap.

In the room adjacent to Foyle's, Rachel stood in front of the bathroom mirror making a similar "damage" assessment. There was a sizeable swelling in the middle of her forehead. "No amount of makeup in the world is gonna cover this up. I'm going to make a great looking dinner companion for Mr. Foyle!" Tears formed in her eyes, but brushed them away with her thumb. "Not going to cry! Not…going…to…cry! The only water I want to feel on me is bathwater!"

She turned on the taps full blast and quickly stripped off her clothes, leaving them in a pile on the bathroom floor. She stepped in the tub and slid down in the water up to her chin. Rachel closed her eyes and tried to relax, but her mind wouldn't let her. It took her from memories of Jimmy to the present and Mr. Foyle. _"Same hotel, same floor and rooms next to each other,"_ she mused rolled her eyes toward the ceiling and told the Almighty, "You've got an interesting sense of humor, Lord! Why did I meet Mr. Foyle?" In an accusatory tone she added, "Not playing matchmaker, are you? Really, the man's old enough to be my father and he's from the other side of the Atlantic. What are you playing at? That's what I'd like to know!"

No heavenly answer was forthcoming so Rachel completed her bath, put on make-up and then set about making a decision about what to wear. She didn't have many dresses to choose from. For over four years she'd worn the same ones and despite her best efforts they looked their age. Only one dress was an exception. It had never really been worn other than when she tried it on in the dress shop where she bought it. It was a long sleeved emerald green rayon dress with an embroidered bodice and dyed to match buttons. Jimmy had liked the way it looked on her so much that he insisted on buying her the hat to go with it; the hat that she thought she had lost on the train when it tumbled off her head.

The special occasion it was intended for never happened. It was the best one she owned and she would wear it that evening. Rachel put on the dress and smoothed and adjusted it to her satisfaction, her hands trembling. She then gave her dark auburn locks some attention by running a comb through them. The finishing touch was her hat that she made sure to secure with a hat pin, not wanting risk a chance of it falling off her head again. In the bedroom mirror she saw the image of a young woman smartly turned out, ready for dinner out and not for the occasion her dress had been intended for- her wedding day.

" _Rachel, are you sure that you don't want a big wedding with a gown, flowers …the works?"_

" _Yes Jimmy, I'm very sure. All I want is to be your wife, that's all that matters to me."_

As tears welled in her eyes Rachel fumbled in her handbag looking for her handkerchief; instead she found the wadded mess that had been Mr. Foyle's own handkerchief. She looked at her reflection in the mirror and told it fiercely, "Not gonna cry. Not…gonna…do…it."

The sun was setting when Foyle woke up from his nap. He called the front desk to get the time and found out that is was six thirty already! Sitting on the edge of the bed, he indulged in some stretching and yawning before trudging to the bathroom. One look in the mirror told him that he was in need of a shave.

* * *

The familiar routine of shaving gave him the opportunity to think about Rachel Roberts. What would they talk about during dinner? _"Don't really make small talk. Hmm…what if she asks me why I'm in America?"_ He pursed his lips and studied his reflection in the mirror. " _Just have to take it as it comes."_ Just then Foyle nicked his chin with the razor. He grunted in pain, held back a curse and grabbed a tiny piece of bathroom tissue to stick to the place where the razor had made a tiny slice in his chin. "Can't blame that on Miss Roberts. Self-inflected injury."

After he'd put on a fresh shirt and tie, Foyle returned to the bathroom mirror for one last look at himself before he went to his dinner companion's room. By that time the cut on his chin had stopped bleeding. He peeled the tiny piece of bathroom tissue away with a sigh, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Rachel heard his footsteps in the hotel corridor and hurried to open the door before he even had a chance to knock. She looked up at him and her glistening eyes seemed enormous compared to the rest of her face. An underlying sadness was there as well. _"If I ask her what's wrong, would she tell me? Don't want to make her cry again."_

"Good evening, Mr. Foyle. Ready for dinner?" she stammered.

He pulled his lower lip inward for a second and then answered, "Yep. But you're not."

A puzzled Rachel Roberts looked at the coat and handbag over her arm and felt for the hat poised on her head. " _What is he talking about'? I'm dressed and have my coat and hat."_

Foyle pointed down at her stocking feet. "Shoes. Too cold outside to go without them."

After Rachel mentally kicked herself, she stammered, "Oh yeah, suppose I should put them on."

"Yep"

A quick search under her bed yielded the shoes. Rachel jammed her feet into them and a quick glance down told her she'd put them on properly. " _Thank Heaven for small favors. At least I put them on right way round!"_ She grabbed her handbag and turned to face him, endeavoring to gain her composure.

Foyle cleared his throat, a hint of a smile on his lips and asked, "Ready to go now, Miss Roberts?"

She nodded "yes" and stepped out into the corridor to join him. " _Well, I'm glad to amuse, Mr. Foyle. Can't seem to do anything else right when I'm around you."_

He pointed at her right arm. "Your coat. Might want to put it on before we go outside."

"Yes, I should."

Foyle took the coat from her and helped her in to it. She turned to face him and he found himself looking down into her eyes. It was a rare experience for a woman to literally look up to him and he lingered for a few seconds, studying her face. He knew nothing about her except her name and where she was from. For a reason he couldn't fathom, he felt compelled to find out more about her.

" _His face speaks volumes. Is he always so economical with words? I want to know something about him, but I'm afraid to ask. He seems so private."_ Rachel unconsciously exhaled a long sigh at her thoughts about the man standing over her. For some reason she couldn't fathom, her heart started to gallop. _"Come on, get a grip Rachel. He's not going to eat you. It will be alright, you'll have a nice dinner and then…"_

Her thoughts trailed off when she felt the slightest touch of Foyle's hand on her arm and heard him say, "Ready, now?"

"Yes…uh…I am."

He smiled at her, not at first with his mouth, but with his eyes. She realized that if his lips never moved, the smile was there all the same and that comforted her in a way she couldn't explain.

The elevator ride and the trip through the lobby were silent until Rachel stopped and pointed at a sign that hung over the hotel bar. "Well, when somebody told me about this place, I thought they were kidding me. There really is a _Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge._ Sounds appropriate- have too much to drink and you might see "pink elephants"."

"Yep."

She turned to face Foyle and laughed, "O.K., Gary Cooper. Let's go get some grub."

He reacted to her calling him by the film star's name with a raised eyebrow and a twist of his lips. " _Never heard Sam compare me to a film star. Nothing like Mr. Cooper. Must ask where she gets the idea from. Something to talk about at dinner."_ He pulled the brim of his trilby over his twinkling blue eyes and told Rachel, "Yep."

* * *

As Foyle studied Rachel's face while she stared down at her menu, he thought she was the picture of concentration with her brows knit together and a slight frown shaping her lips. The exception was her hands; with the left one she pinned the menu to the table as if it might blow away and the right one was planted over her knife and spoon, which she fiddled with incessantly.

" _Don't frown, it's just dinner, not a life or death decision. Oh, for God's sake, stop fussing with the silverware!"_ He was about to clear his throat or say something to get her to stop fiddling with her knife and spoon when the waiter arrived to take their orders. After Foyle gave his order, the waiter turned to Rachel.

"And you, Miss?" he asked the young woman who was still staring at her menu. He waited a few seconds and then asked, "Um Miss, what would you like to order?"

" _Poor old sod, he'll stand here all night waiting on Miss Roberts to answer him. Better help him out."_ Foyle gently touched her right hand to get her attention.

Rachel simultaneously jumped and let out a strangled scream, "Great gosh almighty, Mr. Foyle! What are you doing? Trying to give me heart failure? "

He managed not to smile, but his eyes betrayed the amusement he felt. Foyle inclined his head in the waiter's direction to let her know that the poor man was waiting to take her order.

Her face slowly turned crimson, starting at her chin and working its way up to her cheeks. _"Well damn it all. I did it again! Made an absolute fool of myself. I have no clue what was on that menu, but I'll take a stab in the dark and order chicken. Surely they have that here."_

"I'll have the chicken," Rachel stammered.

"Very good miss." The waiter grinned at her and then took the menus, heading toward the kitchen to turn in their orders. She watched him walk away until he disappeared behind the kitchen doors. Now she had no choice but face her dinner companion, which she did with great reluctance.

"Miss Roberts, are you alright?"

Rachel let out a long sigh and absentmindedly ran her fingers through her hair. "Guess you think I'm an idiot. There… I said it. Been wondering what you thought of me since we "met" today on the train."

The corners of his lips lifted in a nearly imperceptible smile. "Don't think you're an idiot. Nervous, perhaps?"

Rachel blurted out her answer, "YesIfeelnervousaroundyou." The second the words left her mouth, she regretted them. "I'm sorry Mr. Foyle, I shouldn't have said that."

"S'alright. You're just telling the truth. Nothing wrong with that. I'm a stranger to you… and you were traveling alone. Shows you've got some common sense to be wary of me."

" _How can I explain to him that I'm not nervous around him because he's a stranger or because I was traveling to Washington on my own? It's because…because… for the first time in years that I felt…"_ Rachel preempted her thoughts, looked into the depths of his blue eyes and simply told him, "I trust you."

Rachel's response seemed quite earnest. He wondered if she was more than a little naïve and it bothered him to think of anyone taking advantage of her trusting nature.

"Now, that being said Mr. Foyle, you have me at a disadvantage."

A puzzled expression crossed his face. " _First she declares she trusts me and then she tells me I have her at a disadvantage."_ His eyes widened and he tilted his head slightly before asking, "In what way?"

"Well, for one thing you know my first and last name and where I'm from. I only know your last name and your accent tells me you're from somewhere in England. A little more detail would be appreciated."

A little more detail is just what she received when he answered, "First name's Christopher and my home is Hastings."

"Oh, I see. Hastings as in the Battle of… and 1066?"

"Yep."

Rachel silently gave thanks that she'd been paying attention in History class when she was in school. "By the way, sir, I would never presume to call you by your given name. The joke where I'm from is that you always say 'sir' or 'ma'am' to someone five minutes older than you."

This revelation of Southern custom amused him and he thought, _"Well, I'm considerably more than five minutes older than Miss Roberts. Wonder if she considers me ancient?"_

She leaned forward and propped her chin in her hand, "Hmm…dare I ask another question of you, sir?"

Foyle shrugged and nodded ascent to another query from the young woman.

"Why are you here in the States? Is it business or pleasure?" She paused and then added, "Or… you can tell me I'm being too nosey."

Now it was up to Christopher Foyle to reveal the purpose of his trip to America. _"How much should I tell her_? _Probably as little as possible without outright lying to her. Yes, I'm here on business, but now there's a little pleasure to be had just being in her company for a little while. Wouldn't want to spoil it."_

He settled on the simplest answer he could give. "Business." Foyle then asked Rachel a similar question, hoping at the very least to keep her from digging any deeper about his reason for being in America. "And what brings you to Washington?"

"A job. I'm going to work for Senator Maybank, he's from Charleston. I'll be the most junior of his clerical staff and that occasionally I might be asked to work for another senator when Senator Maybank doesn't need me. Trying to remember his name…let me see…Parks…no…Parker….Palmer…uh… I remember now; his name is Paige and he's from Michigan."

Foyle endeavored to maintain a neutral expression on his face at the news that Rachel might come in contact with Howard Paige. He quickly filed this information away in his mind- now was not the time to give details about his visit to the States. Maybe he shouldn't tell her at all. _"Perhaps I should tell her that I can't see her anymore after tonight. Don't want her entangled in my affairs. It would probably hurt her feelings, but that's better than getting her involved in something that's none of her concern. I'll make an excuse for not seeing her again when we return to the hotel."_ Now the struggle began between wanting to keep Rachel safe by not involving her in his unfinished business with Howard Paige and his desire to have the continued pleasure of her company.

"You don't mind walking back to the hotel? I could hail a taxi."

Rachel laughed and patted her stomach. "No, I don't mind walking. I ate way more than I should have. Besides, I'm used to walking long distances. Did a lot of it during the War. Daddy gave up driving his car and gave his gasoline and tire coupons to our minister so he was able to take care of parish business and make visitations to the sick. Only problem with Daddy's generosity was that there was always a struggle to have enough coupons for shoes. Sure wore out a lot of shoe leather walking so much."

"I would imagine so," Foyle responded. "Lots of people did the same thing here and in Britain."

"Did you, sir?"

" _Certainly did my share of walking, but travelled a lot by car."_ Sam Stewart's bright smiling face and her question "where to sir?" came to mind.

"Well… probably not as much as you. Had a driver."

"A driver? Why? What kind of work did you do during the War?" Rachel decided to stop worrying about whether or not he would answer her questions; she would ask anyway. She'd spent just enough time with him to realize that he wouldn't give her personal information unless he wanted her to know it.

They walked another block before he answered her. "Police work."

"Oh, you must've been high ranking to have a driver."

Not willing to give her details about his rank or work, he simply told her, "Don't like driving."

"Never heard a man say he didn't like driving a car. Guess there's a first time for everything."

"Yep."

They continued on in a companionable silence for several blocks, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Rachel caught the toe of her right shoe in a crack in the pavement. She landed face down with a thud and remained motionless for a full minute before sobbing "dammit!"

Foyle knelt down and took her hand, slowly pulling her up until she was standing. Without a second thought, he brushed away blood that trickled down her cheek with his thumb. Unconsciously, Rachel leaned against his hand, taking in the comfort of his touch. Yes, she trusted him. He now had no doubt.

"Are you alright?"

Realizing that his hand was still on her cheek, she backed away from him an inch before she looked up and said, "Yes, just a scratch on my cheek and a ruined stocking. I'll be fine."

" _Question is, will I?"_ Christopher Foyle still had no clearer picture about what to do about Rachel Roberts than he did before dinner.

* * *

 **Author's Notes-** My mom was a little girl when the United States entered the Second World War. In discussing her memories about the War, she shared with me that my grandfather gave up his car during the war so their pastor could make use of the extra gasoline and tire coupons for it.

Senator Burnet R. Maybank served in the U.S. Congress from November 1, 1941- September 1, 1954. He was the mayor of Charleston from 1931-1938 and governor of South Carolina from 1938- 1941.

Yes, there really was a _Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge_ at the Hotel Harrington. It opened in 1940 and became a popular gathering place, famous during World War II. It closed in 1986.

I just couldn't resist the Gary Cooper reference- Christopher Foyle's monosyllabic answers of "yep" and "nup" reminds me little bit of some of the characters that Mr. Cooper played in a great many films- men of high morals and few words who always win the day.

 **How is Christopher Foyle going to deal with the knowledge that Rachel will most likely come in contact with Howard Paige, the very man he is pursuing?**

 **Once again, I want to express my appreciation to everyone who reads this little effort. Reviews are also very much appreciated!**


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

 **Disclaimer-** Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful. Rachel, Jimmy and the Reverend Frank Broussard are my own original characters.

* * *

As Rachel entered the lobby of the Hotel Harrington, a grimace of pain flickered across her face. Foyle placed his hand under her elbow and turned her to face him. "Not fine, are you?"

She pulled away and looked up at him with a touch of defiance in her green eyes, like a child who'd been caught in a lie. "What do you mean?"

He pointed at her bloody knee, now visible in the light of the hotel lobby. ''Why didn't you tell me about that when you fell?"

Rachel looked at the floor and mumbled, "Didn't want to be a bother."

Foyle exhaled an exasperated sigh, "No bother. We could have taken a taxi the rest of the way back to the hotel."

She shrugged, removed her gloves and purposely rubbed a long scar on her right hand. "I've been hurt before and managed to survive."

" _What does she mean by that?"_ He pondered the scar. " _Managed to survive…what? An accident? An assault? And why couldn't she just tell me about her knee when she fell?"_ Concern and disappointment were evident in his eyes and voice as he told Rachel, "I wish you would have told me you were hurt."

Guilt washed over Rachel, causing her to regret the way she spoken to him. She reached out and placed her hand on his arm. "Oh Mr. Foyle, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have talked to you that way. I'm so sorry. Please forgive me."

"I forgive you Miss Roberts…Don't you think you should go to your room and take care of that knee?"

Rachel inclined her head in the direction of the _Pink Elephant Cocktail Lounge._ "I should, but all I want right now is a stiff drink. You don't mind being seen with a woman with bloody knee and a hole in her stocking the size of the Grand Canyon, do you?"

Foyle tilted his head to one side and shrugged. "I suppose I'll cope." He steered her towards a table close to the entrance of the _Pink Elephant_ and helped her take off her coat. "What would you like to drink?"

"Scotch and water, please."

"I'll go and get our drinks." Foyle removed his hat and coat and handed them to her.

As he walked away from the table, Rachel got her first look at him from the back. Christopher Foyle appeared to be a man who was sure of himself and his place in the world. It showed in the way he moved. His stride was purposeful and unhurried; a pure pleasure to watch.

Still musing on his appearance, Rachel was unaware that Foyle had returned to the table with their drinks until he pressed a glass into her hand. "Th…thanks. Sorry. My mind was a thousand miles away. Been a long day, hasn't it?" She was not about to admit that she had been engrossed in watching him move across the room.

"Yep, it has."

Rachel let out a deep, throaty chuckle and told him, "If it didn't sound so disrespectful, I'd call you Coop."

"Why?" He was pretty certain he already knew the answer; he just wanted the pleasure of hearing Rachel explain why she had called him Gary Cooper earlier that evening.

"Hm…well…um…" She ran her finger around the rim of her glass trying to formulate an answer in her mind before saying it out loud and possibly offending him or embarrassing herself. Rachel closed her eyes as she took a quick swallow of whiskey, stalling for a little more time. She opened her eyes to "I'm waiting" look from him.

"Well, you both have blue eyes. And…you're men of few words- strong, silent types. However, Mr. Cooper is a "long, tall drink of water" and you're…ah…ah…" Rachel danced around saying anything else about Foyle's height.

"Not," he finished her sentence.

"Um, yeah. But the main difference between you and Gary Cooper is that I've only seen him in the movies and you're…" The tone of Rachel's voice suddenly changed completely and she continued, "Mr. Foyle, you're here right now and…very real." She reached out and briefly touched his arm as a means of confirming what she'd just told him.

He closed his eyes tightly for a second and then opened them. Telling her goodnight and goodbye when they finished their drinks and returned to their rooms had gone from being difficult to nearly impossible. " _Why did you say that? What does it mean?"_

The look on his face made Rachel think he was upset by what she'd said. "I'm sorry Mr. Foyle, did I say something wrong?"

"Nup." He shook his head ever so slightly. _"Not wrong, just unsettling."_ He quickly finished his whiskey and Rachel took it as a cue to do the same. Their evening together was at an end.

During the elevator ride to the seventh floor of the hotel, Rachel fretted silently. She felt sure that she'd offended him by the comparison to Gary Cooper. She exhaled a long sigh of disappointment. _"Oh well, it was nice while it lasted. He'll probably be glad to be rid of me."_

If she had only known what was going through his mind, the disappointment she was feeling would have faded away. Foyle studied the face of the young woman standing next to him. The auburn highlights in her dark hair shown in the dim light of the elevator like a forest fire seen from a distance. He had a strong urge to touch those strands of hair. " _Just brush them away, out of her eyes so she can see a little better. Then, what's next? You touch her hair, then her cheek and then maybe you'll want to…kiss… Oh come now Foyle, don't go down this path!"_

When the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor both of them slowly walked out towards their rooms. Rachel decided to "get it over with" and say good night and perhaps goodbye to the man she'd share her day with. "Well Mr. Foyle, thank you for dinner and the drink. More than that…thank you for the company. I hope you haven't regretted our accidental meeting. "

By this time they were standing in front of the door to Rachel's room. She slipped her room key into the lock.

In a matter of seconds she would be on the other side of that door and Foyle knew he'd better take his chance to tell her what spending the day with her had meant to him. _"You're glad she "bumped" into you, aren't you? Yes. Well, tell her then!"_

"Miss Roberts, I'm glad we met and I …"

The ringing of the phone in her room interrupted him. She hurriedly unlocked the door and then turned back to face him. "I'm sorry, but I've got to take this call. I'm sure it's my parents wanting to make sure I got to Washington safe and sound. Well, good night."

Rachel was so focused on answering the phone's insistent ring that she failed to close the door completely as she hurried inside her room. Foyle reached out to pull the door shut, but hesitated. He knew he should close the door and let her have privacy, but something compelled him to stay where he was.

Snatching the phone's receiver off its cradle, Rachel answered with a breathy "hello". "Yes ma'am, I'm fine. I'm sorry I didn't call you and Daddy when I got here. "

Through the barely open door Foyle could see Rachel pace back and forth as she listened to the caller on the other end of the line. It seemed the more she listened, the more agitated she became and her actions showed it. First she kicked off her shoes, sending them flying across the room and landing with a thud. Next, she raked her fingers raked through her tresses and hairpins scattered all over the floor. "I'm just fine. I haven't been alone today. I met a gentleman on the train and we had dinner tonight."

Rachel huffed and responded to whatever the caller had just said to her. "Good grief! The man is old enough to be my father. I was perfectly safe." She punctuated the remark by tossing her handbag on the bed, while she gripped the receiver with a choke hold in the other one. "Look Mama, I am a grown woman and I can take care of myself. I've lived through a war and I survived Pearl…"

An idea coalesced in his mind from three clues- the label in her hat that had the name of a hat shop in Honolulu, the scar on her right hand and the word Pearl. She must have been present when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941! Now he understood what she'd meant by telling him that she had been hurt before and survived.

Rachel's voice began to quaver and she ended the call in one terse sentence, "Good night Mama, I love you and I'll call you tomorrow." She hung up the phone and collapsed on the bed, sobbing.

His first impulse was to go in and comfort Rachel and possibly risk her being angry with him for listening in on the conversation with her mother. Out of a desire not to add to her distress, Christopher Foyle reluctantly decided to leave her alone and quietly closed the door. He went into his room and prepared for bed, hoping she would be alright.

After putting on pajamas and crawling into bed, Foyle switched off the lamp and lay in the dark thinking about how his expectations of the day had been totally turned upside down. It was one of the rare days since he'd arrived in the States that the major thing on his mind wasn't the pursuit of Howard Paige. He had waited for years to have the opportunity to bring the man to justice, would he throw it all away because of a young woman he he'd known for less than 24 hours?

* * *

As Rachel slept, memories transformed into dreams that were deceptively peaceful at their beginning but quickly turned into terrifying, surreal horrors so vivid that she felt as if she was actually living through the experiences again.

 _7:50 am Sunday, December 7, 1941- Pearl City, Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory_

" _Rachel, are you sure about this wedding on Saturday? It seems like such a hurried affair, is there something you aren't telling me?"_

" _What do you mean, Uncle Frank?"_

 _The kind face of the man sagged under the weight of the answer he both expected and dreaded. Benjamin Franklin Broussard sighed and raked his fingers through what was left of his silver colored hair. "You know exactly what I mean."_

 _Rachel knew she owed her uncle the truth. After all, she'd been living with him for over six months and he was her mother's oldest brother and a Presbyterian minister as well. "I might as well tell you now- I'm pregnant, probably about 3 months along."_

" _Oh Lord! Rachel, have you told Jimmy?"_

" _Of course."_

" _Is this why you two are in such a hurry to get married?"_

" _Well it certainly adds a greater sense of urgency to everything, but much more than that- we want to get married before the U.S. gets into the War…you know it's just a matter of time… and his ship has to sail out into the Pacific. Uncle Frank, I've loved Jimmy Dubose all my life and all I want to do is be his wife." She hesitated for a moment, feeling guilty at the concern she saw in her uncle's eyes. "I'm sorry, Uncle Frank. Jimmy and I had the wedding night before the wedding."_

 _In all his years as a clergyman, Frank Broussard had heard that many times before from engaged couples and it just meant to him that his niece was human. His overriding concern for her was that she would be a new bride and expectant mother while her husband was at war and only Heaven knew if and when he would return._

" _Rachel, have you told your folks that you and Jimmy are getting married this coming Saturday…and that you're pregnant?"_

 _Rachel sighed, "No sir, I haven't. What can they do about it? After Jimmy and I are married, I'll let them know."_

" _Your mama is going to have my hide. You know that, don't you?"_

" _Yes, I know. I'm sorry." Rachel gave her uncle an apologetic hug._

" _Well, your folks won't stay mad at us forever and all will be forgiven when that baby arrives."_

 _She smiled and agreed, "Yeah, they'll probably forget about me when the baby gets here."_

" _Oh Rachel, George and Marguerite love you so much! You'll always be their "little girl"._ _Speaking of forgetting or_ _should I say remembering- you have everything arranged for the wedding this coming Saturday?" Her lips turned up in a slight smile as she enumerated on her fingers- "got the church, the minister, the marriage license, the dress and I've asked your next door neighbors, Mrs. Simpson and her husband to be the witnesses. Can you think of anything I might have forgotten?"_

 _Frank Broussard scratched his head for a second and then told her, "No, it sounds like you've got everything lined up. I just hope you two are going to share a long, happy life together."_

 _The drone of aircraft engines cut short their conversation. This was immediately followed by the thundering sound of explosion after explosion._

 _Rachel clutched her uncle's arm, her eyes filled with fear. "Uncle Frank, are we under attack?"_

 _He closed his eyes for a moment, sending a silent prayer to Heaven before he answered, "Yes Rachel, it looks like we are. It was just a matter of time and the Japanese have decided the time is now."_

 _Both of them hurried to the living room window of the manse to see the attack playing out in front of their eyes. From their vantage point in Pearl City they could see across the channel to Ford Island and Battleship Row where seven battleships, the USS Arizona among them, were moored. The airfield on the southern end of Ford Island was attacked first and then the battleships on the west and east ends of the island. The Arizona exploded when a bomb hit its powder magazine. The air was filled with smoke and fire._

 _Rachel screamed out, "Oh God…the Arizona… Jimmy… no!"_

* * *

The shrill, insistent clanging of the hotel alarm and Rachel's scream invaded Christopher Foyle's sleep at the same time. Disoriented, he sat bolt upright in his bed trying to make sense of what was going on. Once his head cleared he went into action and got out of his bed. After putting on his dressing gown and slippers he ventured out into the hall. Hotel guests moved down the hallway towards the stairwell in a hurried, but in a surprisingly ordered fashion which he attributed to wartime air raid evacuation practice. Rachel was not among the people passing him. She was still in her room.

" _Only someone deaf wouldn't hear that fire alarm. Does she sleep that soundly?"_

He knocked on her door and received no response. Then he pounded the door several times and loudly shouted, "Miss Roberts! Get up! The fire alarm is going off! We've got to evacuate the hotel."

No sounds of movement in the room caused him to raise his voice a few decibels and call out, "Rachel, get up now!" He jiggled the door handled, pounded on the door again and called to her once more, "Rachel!" Finally, he heard a groan and the sound of shuffling footsteps.

She jerked the door open and said one word- a name. "Jimmy?" He looked down to see her standing before him barefoot, wearing a nearly transparent nightgown. His eyes widened and for a moment he was transported back to his honeymoon and the memory of a nightgown that his late wife, Rosalind had worn. " _Get a grip on yourself….no time for…no time…time to get her out of here!"_

The filmy piece of cloth left nothing to the imagination as it concerned Rachel's figure. The young woman was petite, but by no means waif like. The words "filled out" came to mind as he swept a hand over his face. Foyle chastised himself for becoming distracted by her appearance. " _My God, why on earth is she wearing something like that? Must get her out of the building!"_

Her eyes were glazed over and it was obvious that just because they were open did not mean she was fully awake. Foyle looked over the room, hoping to spot her coat or something else to cover her. "Rachel, where is your dressing gown?"

"Hmm?"

" _Oh, what do Americans call 'em?"_ A second later he recalled the word he'd been searching for. "Your robe, where is it?"

"Hmm?" She heard him but did not comprehend what he was asking.

"No time for this." He squeezed past her, entered the room and snatched a blanket off the bed, wrapping it around her body. He then found her shoes in the corner of the room where she'd kicked them off while talking on the phone with her mother. He grabbed them and her hand, leading her out into the hall and down the stairs to the outside.

The moment her bare feet hit the cold pavement in front of the hotel, Rachel was fully awake but confused. "Where am I? What's going on?" She looked at her companion. Foyle stood beside her; wearing pajamas, a robe and slippers. He was hatless and in desperate need of a comb. Then she looked down and assessed her own state of dress- nothing but her underpants, the sheer nightgown and a blanket thrown around her and realized he'd received a revelation and it was certainly not a spiritual one! She knew that nightgown left very little to the imagination. _"Oh Lord, why couldn't I have been sensible and worn my flannel nightgown!"_

Rachel began to shiver and pulled the blanket tightly around her body in a feeble effort to get warm. Her teeth chattered loudly as she hopped about from one foot to the other. Foyle handed her the shoes. "You might want these."

"Yes, thank you." She took the shoes from him, dropped them on the pavement and tried to put them on without losing her balance. With the grace of a dancer, Foyle wrapped his right arm around her waist and pulled her around to face him. "Hold on to me while you put on your shoes."

Rachel quickly complied and was thankful to have her shoes on. At least her feet were a little warmer. "Oh, that's better. Thank you Mr. Foyle." Reluctantly, she started to pull away from him now that her task was accomplished.

"No. It's freezing cold out here." He put his other arm around her and pulled her even closer. She had little choice but to relax and take comfort in the shared body warmth. Rachel wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his chest. Listening to the steady beat of Christopher Foyle's heart almost made her forget the terrible dream she had before he came to lead her out of the hotel.

Knowing what she was wearing under the blanket, Christopher was thankful for the cold night air because it served to keep his body from reacting to that knowledge while she clung to him. However, he soon found that he was glad to be holding her so close. It had been a very long time since he'd held a woman in that way. Rachel seemed to need more than just physical warmth, she needed to be comforted. His thoughts moved to the sound of the scream he'd heard while the fire alarm was going off. It had been sorrowful and heart wrenching and he believed that it would have awakened him without the fire alarm blaring in his ears.

Time seem to crawl as they waited in the cold darkness for firemen and hotel staff to find what caused the fire alarm to go off. Rachel wished she could stay enfolded in Foyle's arms for the rest of the night. In that way, she wouldn't have to go back to sleep and face the bad dreams that plagued her almost every night.

In less than fifteen minutes a fireman called out to the hotel guests, "O.K. folks, you can go back inside. Everything is under control." As he passed the couple he chuckled and loudly whispered in Foyle's ear, "Alright mister, you can go back inside and warm up the little missus… You lucky devil!"

Rachel groaned and mumbled into Foyle's chest, "Oh... my …God! Did you hear what he said?"

Oh, he'd heard the fireman alright! Foyle could feel the heat coming off her face. He didn't need a light to see it; he knew she was embarrassed. "Yep. I heard it."

"I could just die," she moaned.

"Would be a shame if you did."

"Inconvenient ?"

"Yep."

Rachel's embarrassment subsided and she looked up at him and grinned. "O.K., I won't do it then."

One corner of his mouth lifted ever so slightly. "Good. Want to go inside?"

Rachel pulled her arms down and back away from him an inch before she answered, "Yep."

During the elevator ride back to their rooms, the fireman's words _"warm up the little missus…You lucky devil!"_ continued to march through Christopher Foyle's head. This and the knowledge of what Rachel was or more accurately, not wearing under the blanket wrapped around her served to bring his body to the state he'd managed to avoid while standing outside in the cold night air with her. He needed to get inside his room as soon as possible!

Rachel stood by the door, hand on the doorknob hesitating to go into her room. Going back to sleep meant revisiting her nightmares. She looked up at Foyle, fear and vulnerability evident in her eyes. It made him want to take her in his arms and hold her; a very dangerous thing to do in considering his physical response to her

When she finally turned away from him and opened the door to her room, Foyle asked, "Rachel, will you be alright?"

She remained facing away from him and answered, "Yes sir."

"Not the truth, is it?"

Rachel turned around to face him. "You think I'm lying to you?"

He leaned his head to one side while biting his bottom lip. "You were screaming out a man's name just as the fire alarm started going off. Do you have nightmares every night?"

She didn't need to answer his question; he already knew the answer. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she answered with a strangled "yes".

Foyle fought the impulse to pull her into his arms. _"What do I do now? We can't stand out here in the hall this way for the rest of the night_

Rachel knew it wasn't proper to ask a man into her room but she was desperately afraid of being alone with her nightmares."Mr. Foyle, please come inside and….sit with me for a little while. Maybe I'll be able to go back to sleep and not have any more bad dreams tonight."

"Alright, just for a few minutes…until you're feeling better…" He followed Rachel into her room, hoping he wouldn't regret his decision."

* * *

 **Author's Notes** \- _A manse is a house owned and maintained by a church as a dwelling place for it's clergy- i.e. minister, vicar, priest, rector. Other names for this sort of dwelling are vicarage, rectory and parsonage._

 _What's with the French surnames- Dubose and Broussard. Many French Huguenots (French Protestants) settled in colonial America, a lot of them came to South Carolina. The Huguenots that settled in America were in part responsible for the beginnings of the Presbyterian Church in America, although some Huguenots became part of Anglican parishes in the colonies. Since Rachel and her family are from Charleston, I wanted some of my characters have a Huguenot background._

* * *

 **Just when it seemed that the eventful day for Rachel and Christopher was over- a nightmare and fire alarm change things. He got an eyeful of Rachel and the fireman's comment about him being a "lucky devil" just made things more "interesting". Of course, she was embarrassed yet again. Seems to be a habit with her.**

 ** ** ** **Out of concern for her, Christopher decides to stay with Rachel while she falls asleep. Poor man! It's not going to be easy.********

 **Thanks for reading.**

 **TBC**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

 **Disclaimer** \- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful._ Rachel Roberts, her family and neighbors are my own.

* * *

 _Sunday, December 7, 1941-8:30 am- Pearl Harbor, Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory_

 _Frank Broussard thrust his car keys into Rachel's trembling hands. "Rachel, take the DeSoto, pick up the Simpsons and try to squeeze Mrs. Pula and her brood in the back seat. Then take off up into the sugar cane fields to get inland and away from the harbor."_

 _"What about you, Uncle Frank?" She pointed out at the smoke and fire that filled the sky. "Are you gonna stay here with all this...going on?"_

 _"Yes, I am."_

 _"But, Uncle Frank, it's not safe. What are you going to do?"_

" _I was a medic in the Great War and I might be able to help with the wounded. And as a minister, I've been called to be with the sick and dying when they need me and I've no doubt that's what I should be doing now. You go and take care of our neighbors. We'll find each other when this is over." Rev. Broussard kissed his niece's forehead. "God be with you, my dear."_

 _"And also with you Uncle Frank." Rachel ran out to her uncle's car and began the mission he'd assigned to her. In less than ten minutes, the DeSoto was full- the elderly Simpsons in the front seat with her and Mrs. Pula and her four little ones plus their Wire Haired terrier, Barney, were packed in the back seat. Trying to get the car down the street was a lot harder than picking up her passengers had been. Civilian traffic was brought to a standstill as one military truck after another passed by, full of soldiers and sailors, some half-dressed and struggling to put on their uniforms. Realizing they were going nowhere fast, she drove the DeSoto through several front yards, briefly wondering if she had destroyed anyone's flower beds, and quickly turned the car down the first side street she could find._

 _A little finger tapped her shoulder. Rachel glanced in the rear view mirror and saw the youngest of Mrs. Pula's children, Abigail, tears streaming down her face. "Miss Rachel, where are we going? Why were there all those trucks with soldiers? I'm scared._ _I wanna go home!"_

 _Abigail's siblings joined in a chorus of "Me, too!" Then Barney added to the sounds of distress that came from the back seat of the car by barking and whining while running back and forth over the children and Mrs. Pula's legs._

 _Rachel's nerves were already frayed and they began to unravel quickly. She turned around and shouted at the children and their dog, "For God's sake, just shut up! I'm scared, too, but we can't go back home right now. It isn't safe!" Mrs. Pula opened her mouth to chide Rachel for speaking to her children that way, but was preempted by Barney jumping out the car window._

" _All of you stay in the car and keep your heads down. I'm going to look for your da-darn dog." Rachel jumped out of the car and made a dash down the street, calling out "Barney, come here fella, it will be alright, just come and get back in the car!" Five long minutes later she found him hiding under the front porch of a house, four blocks down from where she'd left the car parked. "There you are! If those kids didn't love you so much, I would leave you here." Barney whimpered and waddled out to her waiting arms. Rachel scooped him up, tucking him under her right arm like a football. She ran, keeping her body low to the ground to avoid being hit by unknown debris that flew through the air above her. Within a few feet of her destination, something ripped across her right hand causing her to cry out in pain and unintentionally squeeze Barney so hard that he yelped and squirmed, trying to jump from her arm._

* * *

"Aw dammit! Hush Barney! You've got nothing to complain about. My hand just saved your hide. I'm the one who got wounded!"

Christopher Foyle's head jerked up at the sound of her angry and pained cry. His first sight of the morning was Rachel sitting up in the bed with a pillow tucked tightly under her right arm and rubbing the scar on her hand. He could tell she wasn't fully awake; her eyes were opened but unfocused.

He let his mind drift to other matters while he waited for her to become fully conscious. _"Who is Barney? Why is there a pillow under her arm? What happened to her hand?_ He moved his head from side slowly, wincing at the stiffness he felt in his neck. _"And….why did I let myself fall asleep sitting in this chair?"_ The chair was not a very comfortable one to start with and spending several hours sleeping in it didn't help matters. Foyle slowly stood up and a groan escaped his lips before he could stop it.

Rachel was fully awake at the sound of his groan and immediately jumped from the bed, nearly colliding with him. "Sir, are you o.k.? And…uh…why are you still here?"

Foyle ran a hand across his forehead. "Yep." He then made the mistake of looking down at her standing before him in her sheer nightgown. Every thought in his head evaporated. It took several secondss to regain his composure and answer her second question. "Uh….fell asleep in the chair. You were restless, didn't want to leave you alone."

She looked down at her feet and then back up at Foyle, brushing back an errant curl that had flopped down in her eyes. "I'm sorry to be so much trouble."

" _Oh God, you don't know the half of it m'dear. Got…to…get her covered up!"_ He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, but the way she looked at that moment was burned into his brain. Foyle took off his dressing gown and wrapped it around Rachel's shoulders. He answered her puzzled look with "it's seems a bit cold in this room."

Rachel involuntarily shivered as she felt the brush of his fingers across her shoulders. "Uh...thank you, sir."

"Welcome."

They stood there in an awkward silence until Rachel's stomach growled and she threw her hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Foyle smiled and Rachel's heart did a flip when she saw the delight in his eyes. "I…uh…suppose we should have breakfast."

"Yep."

"Room service, then? I don't know about you Mr. Foyle, but I have no desire to get dressed just to go downstairs to the hotel dining room for breakfast." She picked up the phone and asked the hotel operator to connect her to Room Service. "Hello…Room Service? This is Rachel Roberts in room 714. I would like to order breakfast for two- bacon, eggs, toast, coffee and a pot of tea. Thank you." Rachel sat back down on the edge of the bed, her bare legs and feet dangling over the side.

" _She almost looks like a little girl sitting there. But she's definitely not a girl...Really shouldn't be alone in this room with her. Must leave after we eat breakfast. Best thing to do."_ He exhaled a long sigh and chewed at his bottom lip.

"Mr. Foyle, everything o.k.?"

"Yeah."

" _Oh really? Now who's not telling the truth? I can tell by that sigh and the way he worried his lip that something's bothering him."_

"Sir, I don't …" The shrill ring of the phone caused Rachel to jump and grab the receiver, answering with a curt "hello". She began pacing back and forth as she listened to the caller while rolling her eyes and occasionally responding with "yes ma'am", "no ma'am" and "I will Mama".

The conversation ended a few minutes later with, "Don't worry. I will go shopping for new clothes today and I guarantee that I will not show up for work at Senator Maybank's office in rags or naked. Bye Mama, I love you." She put the receiver back in the phone's cradle and huffed, "When will my mother realize that I'm a grown woman and that I do have some sense?"

"Because you are on your own now and she can't protect you anymore." Foyle was thinking of how much he had worried about Andrew during the War, often wondering if his son would survive it.

"Mr. Foyle, do you have children?"

"Yeah, a son. He was a RAF pilot during the War."

" _Parents and children- unlikely_ _I'll never know how it feels to worry about a child. Just don't think about, can't change what's happened."_ Without saying a word, she got back in bed, turned over and curled up in a ball.

Foyle had seen her eyes darken and mist just before she turned away from him. It was evident that she was struggling with her emotions. To him, she seemed as changeable as the weather-one moment sunshine and the next moment dark and cloudy. " _What did I say that upset her?"_ He approached her bed and touched her shoulder. "Rachel, are you alright?" A muffled sob was the only response she made as she pulled her body into an even tighter ball.

"Rachel, turn over and face me." She did as he asked and upon seeing the look in his eyes, she knew he expected an answer.

She sat up, pushing hair away from her eyes before she answered. "I'm alright as I'll ever be. Can't change the past."

As far as Foyle was concerned her answer was a non-answer, but he let it go. " _She's not a suspect I need to interrogate after all."_

A knock on the door and the call of "Room Service" relieved Rachel of feeling as if she needed to explain her actions; at least for as long as it took them to eat breakfast. .

Foyle answered the door and a young waiter, who appeared to be no more than 16, entered the room pushing a cart with the contents of the breakfast Rachel had ordered. "Good morning Sir..." He glanced over to Rachel and upon seeing her, the young man squeaked out ..."Ma'am...uh ,enjoyyourbreakfast...uh,please call...if you want anything else." He then sped out of the room, forgetting to close the door.

Rachel was puzzled by the young man's abrupt departure. "Wonder why he left in such a hurry? He took off like a scalded dog."

Her companion closed the door and focused his attention on the contents of the cart. "Dunno. He seemed alright until he saw you."

"Well, gee whiz Mr. Foyle! Do I look that bad?"

Foyle knew he was on a slippery slope when a woman asked him how she looked. Any answer could be the wrong one. He briefly studied the young woman's appearance. " _Lovely, even with her hair in a mess and no makeup. Must've been another reason for the young man's hasty departure."_

 _"_ Nnno. Another reason maybe?"

Rachel got out of bed and joined Foyle at the cart. She poured a cup of coffee and as she took her first sip, another reason for the young man's hasty exit from the room came to mind. "Oh sir, I think I know why he left in such a hurry." Her face took on that now familiar shade of crimson. "Oh...my...God! I bet he thought we were...I was...you were..."

Foyle's eyes widened as it dawned on him what she was thinking. " _Hmm... young man must've thought she was my bit on the side or that this old chap had robbed the cradle and married a much younger woman."_ For a few moments he thought of Rosalind and how young she'd been when they married, but he was much younger then as well. He looked down at Rachel and found that his imagination immediately drifted to the idea of being married to her. His body responded vigorously!

"We should eat before the food gets cold." Foyle then gave his full attention to getting some of the food onto a plate. Once that was done, he sat down in the chair with an uncomfortable reminder of where his imagination had taken him. He crossed his legs and turned to one side, hoping that Rachel wouldn't notice the state he was in.

Rachel sat on the edge of the bed and picked at the food on her plate, preoccupied with thoughts of what would happen after breakfast. " _When this meal is finished, I've got to tell him that I need to get ready to go out for the day. Then he'll walk out of the room and my life."_

For the next ten minutes, the room was silent with only the sound of forks scraping against plates. Rachel gave up on trying to eat and put her plate aside. She just watched Christopher Foyle finish his meal. It gave her great pleasure just to watch him eat. Everything about him was beautiful to her- the way sunlight made a halo around his silver curls, his blues eyes, long eyelashes and his lips. Oh, those lips were perfection itself- as if a sculptor had formed them! What would it feel like to kiss him?

When her breakfast companion had finished eating, he looked up to see the admiring gaze in Rachel's green eyes and it unsettled him to the core. Finally, his body had calmed down and it was definitely time for him to leave her room! He placed his plate on the cart and stood up. "I should go now and let you get on with your plans for the day."

She looked down at her feet and then back up at him. "Yes, I suppose so." She began to push one sleeve of Foyle's dressing gown off her shoulder. "And I should give you this back before you go."

He shook his head slightly and blinked once or twice. _"Oh God, do not take that off in front of me! I know what's underneath! Why does she seem so oblivious to the fact that she has on next to nothing?"_

"Nnno…Return it to me later. Don't need it right now."

The word "later" made her heart leap. She would see him again, at least long enough to give him back his dressing gown. "O.K., I'll do that sir. Thank you for all your kindness to me since I "crashed" into you yesterday. It's been much more than I expected."

" _Rachel, you've been much more than I expected. So much more."_

Foyle's lips formed into a turned down smile and his eyes lit up. "You're very welcome Miss Roberts." The smile faded but his eyes still shone as he told her, "If you need me again, please let me know." He then walked to the door and she followed him, not wanting to waste any remaining seconds with him in her room.

"I will Mr. Foyle. Thank you."

After he stepped out into the hall, she closed the door and leaned against it, telling him even though he couldn't hear her- " I need you Christopher Foyle, don't know why but I do."

* * *

Although she was on the phone with her back to him, Martha Ellis knew without a doubt that her boss was standing behind her listening to her end of the conversation. How many times in all the years she'd worked for Howard Paige had she lied for him? "I'm sorry sir, the senator is not in the office at the moment. Do you want to leave a message for him? Alright sir, if that is what you wish." She hung up the phone and turned to look up at the man who towered over her.

"Who was that Miss Ellis?"

"A gentleman with a British accent, sir."

"Did he give a name?"

"No, he didn't. He just said he would try to reach you later." She paused before asking, "Will you be available if he calls again?" Martha had learned that a little advanced knowledge helped her keep things straight when lying for Howard Paige; she'd done it for so many years.

Paige had just put a cigar in his mouth and mumbled while he lit it, "Don't know, depends on who it is. Do your best to get a name if and when the guy calls again."

"Yes sir, I will. By the way, I just wanted to remind you that I'm going out of town next week. Have you been able to find someone to fill in for me?"

Paige exhaled cigar smoke that hung in a low cloud directly over his secretary's desk. She hated it, but said nothing. Martha had put up with his cigars and their offensive smoke for a long time and had resigned herself to it. Oh how she longed to quit her job! _"I'm not going anywhere and he knows it- I know too damn much about him!"_

 _"_ Yes, Rhett Maybank has a new junior secretary starting to work for him in a couple of days. He told me I could make use of her while you were gone."

"Thank you sir." Martha resumed typing a letter she had been working on before the British mystery man had called. _"Use is the operative word when it comes to Howard Paige. I feel sorry for the woman that replaces me while I'm gone."_

* * *

A frustrated sigh accompanied the sound of Christopher Foyle hanging up the phone a little harder than necessary. "Should have known better than to call Paige's office and expect him to be there. He's eluded me in New York, why would Washington be any different?" He closed the Washington DC telephone directory and finished getting dressed for the day.

While standing in front of the mirror assessing his appearance, his mind replayed the previous day's events- beginning with the knock on the forehead he received from the petite, green eyed American girl who was in truth no girl at all. He'd soon discovered that she was most definitely a grown woman as her nightgown had revealed in the middle of the night, much to his surprise and physical response. Foyle's body stirred at the memory of not only how she looked, but how it felt holding her close as she shivered against him in the middle of the night while waiting for the firemen to tell them it was safe to return to their rooms.

 _"I should check out of this hotel and find another one. Avoid seeing her."_ Foyle shook his head at the absurdity of the idea- just because he would no longer see her didn't mean he could forget her. It was more than just the memory of Rachel Roberts; it was the mystery of what had happened to her, the things that haunted her dreams. Her green eyes revealed a deep sorrow underlying any other emotions that might momentarily be reflected in them. Besides, he wanted to find out who Jimmy and Barney were if for no other reason to listen to her soft, drawling voice.

* * *

Rachel found Foyle before he found her and she hadn't been looking for him. Laden with shopping bags and aching feet, all that interested her at that moment was sitting down in the nearest restaurant with a sandwich and a cup of coffee. The unexpected sight of him trying on what closely resembled a Stetson cowboy hat brought her to a halt in front of the window of Raleigh Haberdashery. Delight bubbled up inside her and she couldn't help but laugh.

She cleared her throat in an effort to stifle her amusement when she entered the store, then took a deep breath as she approached him. The strangled sound of her "hello Mr. Foyle" got his immediate attention, causing him to turn his face in her direction and the hat to slump down over his eyes. "Oh sir, I don't think… that… hat…"

He pushed the hat's brim away from his face, revealing a raised eyebrow. He chewed his bottom lip for a second before asking, "Something wrong with the hat?"

Rachel felt the too familiar flush of embarrassment in her face and made an intense study of her feet before looking up to answer. She raised her head, but avoided looking directly at Foyle. "I… um...ah… think that hat's a little too big for you sir."

He shrugged and removed the hat, placing it on the sales counter. "I suppose you're right. Didn't suit me anyway. Not Gary Cooper."

It was then that she finally looked directly at him and her response was momentarily forgotten at the sight of him bareheaded. _"Those curls! I could look at them all day. No, I would want to do more than just look. Would want to touch…. And Glory Hallelujah, I'm so glad you're not Gary Cooper! Oh Rachel, stop staring at him like a lovesick teenage girl!"_

She mentally kicked herself for the thought and managed to stammer, "I…I didn't say that Mr. Foyle, I just said it was too big. Perhaps you need to try a different size."

"Nnoo…had enough shopping for the day." He glanced down at the shopping bags on the floor by her feet and noticed the way she was leaning against the counter. "Have you?"

"Oh yes! All I want is to collapse in a chair somewhere and not move for a while!"

He smiled ever so briefly, his lips turned down. Rachel found that nearly nonexistent smile so appealing she was tempted to do or say something ridiculous to see if she could coax another one from him. She couldn't help but wondering if he effected other women this way which led to something she hadn't contemplated since they'd met the previous day. _"Wonder if he's married? He's mentioned his son, but not a wife. Isn't wearing a wedding ring, but that doesn't mean anything. I would like to know, but don't feel "brave" enough to ask him outright. Hmm… maybe he'll tell me… eventually. Why even worry about it? It's not like I'm…"_

"Rachel?"

"Oh, sorry. My attention span is short for some reason." She was lying big time and the reason was standing right across from her! "I'm ready to get something to eat, maybe my mind will stay on track after a little rest and some food."

"Mmm…maybe... Let's go have lunch." Before Rachel could pick up her shopping bags, Foyle had them in his hands, indicating with nod of his head toward the door that he was ready to leave the haberdashery.

She responded with a hasty "yes sir" and a regret that she hadn't been able to grab hold of the shopping bag that held the new underthings she'd purchased that morning. Rachel felt she'd fulfilled her quota of embarrassment in the presence of Christopher Foyle.

They ate lunch in companionable silence. Although she was comfortable in his presence, Rachel had no idea how to make small talk with the man seated across the table from her. Every topic of conversation that came to mind was quickly dismissed because it seemed trivial or just down right foolish. She wanted to know more about him and his life in Hastings, but felt there was a boundary she shouldn't cross.

Finally, he broke the silence by asking her a question that confused her completely and made her wonder if she had misunderstood him. "Who's Barney?"

"Sir?" Rachel wracked her brain to remember when she would have mentioned Barney in any of their previous conversations. The only Barney she knew was in Hawaii and a dog at that! Oh well, she would answer his question anyway. "Mr. Foyle, Barney was an annoying little dog I once knew. I don't remember saying anything about him to you."

"You called out his name right before you woke up this morning. Seemed like you were having a bad dream."

Rachel glanced down at her scarred hand placed on the table and mumbled, "Yes, I was. Have them a lot." She then looked up at him and added, "It happens nearly every night. I can't remember what it's like not to have bad dreams when I sleep, even during naps."

Now Foyle knew he was wading into deep water. It was evident that Rachel was troubled by something in the past that she couldn't accept or let go. Did he even want to delve into what it might be? _"Don't have to know…isn't necessary…might upset her…but I want to know the cause of sadness that's ever present in those green eyes and behind her smile."_ The impulse to cover her hand with his own was strong but he held back, as he so often did with his emotions.

Rachel held back as well. It would have been so easy to let the whole story of what happened at Pearl Harbor rush out of her in a torrent, but she believed telling it would be more painful than reliving it in dreams. In her mind it also meant that she accepted her losses from that awful day and she wasn't ready to acknowledge that the life she'd planned was gone forever.

The silence between them returned, but it was not a comfortable one. Foyle was afraid to ask and let his emotional guard down and Rachel was afraid to talk about the cause of her bad dreams and relive the pain of that distant December morning.

Rachel and Foyle were outside the restaurant before she said anything else to him and it was only to tell him that she had to make one last stop before returning to the hotel. "I've got to find a pharmacy and pick up a few things. Please don't let me hold you up in completing your business for today."

Was she, as the Americans say, giving him the "brush off"? Foyle worried his bottom lip for half a second before telling her, "No more business for me today. Could come with you to do your last bit of shopping and then we could share a cab back to the hotel."

The expectant look in his eyes tugged at her heart and put away any notion of wanting to be alone. Rachel decided just being with him was more important than the potential questions he might ask her while they were together. "Sure Mr. Foyle, that's alright with me."

His mouth spread into an almost imperceptible grin. "Saw a pharmacy in the next block."

Rachel returned his grin with a broad smile. "Oh good, I think I can just about drag myself there."

Foyle reached out to take some of the shopping bags Rachel had been holding. His fingertips brushed her hand and she felt a warmth radiating from them that was comforting and she wished for a moment that he'd taken her hand instead. "Th...thank you. It will help me get there a little quicker if I'm not lugging all this stuff by myself."

"Yup."

They'd only walked a few feet when someone behind them called out, "Hey baby! What's a cute little dame like you doing with that old man?"

Rachel froze in place and Foyle halted beside her. Through clinched teeth she hissed, "Oh… hell… no! No one is going to talk that way to me… or you, Sir."

What Foyle saw when he looked at her was not a face red with embarrassment, but with anger. She thrust the bags she'd been holding into his already full hands and took off in the direction of the offender at full speed. When Rachel finally stopped she was toe to toe with an enormous man wearing a sailor's uniform. Only eye level with his torso, she had to lean back her head to see his face. The self-satisfied smirk she saw there only served to fuel the fury burning inside of her.

"You jackass! How… dare… you… behave that way, especially when you're wearing the uniform of the United States Navy! Shame on you!"

Christopher Foyle watched the scene playing out before him wondering if he should intervene or wait to see what would happen next. _"Rachel, just ignore him and walk away!"_

The sailor looked down at her and chuckled. "And just what are you gonna do about it Shorty? Don't think the old man is gonna be much help to you now. What is he anyway? Your father?" An evil grin spread across his face and he added, "By the look of all those shopping bags he's holding, I bet he's your sugar daddy. Hmm… you must be doing _something_ extra special for him in exchange for all that stuff."

Rachel's hackles rose and she stood on tip toe as she blasted him with a rapid fire verbal assault which she punctuated with a jab to his stomach . "Look you SOB! That man is not my "sugar daddy", he's my friend. And what's more, I bought all "that stuff" with my own money! And… and he's not OLD!"

He threw back his head and let out a loud guffaw. "Well Shorty, you must be blind, 'cause he don't look like no spring chicken to me!"

Rachel kicked him hard on the shin of his left leg, causing him to howl and rub the injury while he shouted "Dammit girl! You didn't have to do that!"

For Foyle this was the last straw! He wasn't going to just observe anymore. He dropped everything he was holding onto the sidewalk and advanced towards the battling duo, calling out to her, "Rachel, enough of this! Let's go now!"

She was so consumed with anger that Foyle's directive sounded like an insect buzzing in her ears. All her attention was focused on the sailor. "Apologize for the things you said about me and my friend or I'll do it again!"

"Oh no you won't," he growled, raising a ham sized fist to strike her.

Foyle pulled Rachel backwards just before the sailor's fist connected with her face. He whipped her around in the opposite direction with a firm grip on her arm. Although he spoke to her in a low, even tone it was evident by the look in his eyes that he wouldn't accept any objections to his course of action. "Keep moving. Don't look back. We're going back to the hotel _now._ "

They stopped long enough to gather up Rachel's shopping bags and continued walking. Foyle was quite aware that the sailor was about to catch up with them and kept a firm grip on his young companion's elbow with one hand while signaling a passing cab with the other. No sooner than the driver pulled up to the curb, he jerked opened the rear passenger door, pushed Rachel and all her bags into the back seat of the cab. He then got in beside her, closed and locked the door just seconds before their pursuer caught up with them.

Immediately the cabbie pulled his car away from the red faced, cursing behemoth in a naval uniform. He drove a full block before asking, "What was that all about? You two were real lucky I picked you up when I did. That guy looked like he would've made mincemeat outta you."

Ignoring the cabbie's remarks, Foyle simply ordered, "Hotel Harrington, please."

"Yes sir, right away."

Rachel made a sideways glance in Foyle's direction and then turned her whole body away from him, staring out the window while silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She was sure that he was angry with her and that distressed her more than how foolish she felt for confronting the sailor who'd insulted them. The scenery passed by in a blur and she didn't realize they had arrived at their destination until he touched her shoulder. She turned to face him but kept her eyes focused on the space between them, not daring to look up.

" _Now she's afraid of me. Doesn't she understand that I was only trying to protect her?"_ Foyle pushed the brim of his hat back, exhaled a long, loud sigh and then proceeded to chew furiously on his bottom lip.

She blinked and tears that had been welling in her eyes splashed on his coat. Now it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms to comfort her. Instead, Christopher Foyle focused on helping Rachel out of the cab, retrieving her shopping bags and paying the cabbie. A bellman took charge of the bags and followed them into the hotel lobby.

Foyle gently took hold of Rachel's elbow, guiding her toward the elevator. At first she struggled to pull away but yielded to him. All too soon he would tell her that he'd had enough of her foolish behavior and their brief friendship would end. She was sure of it.

* * *

 **Author's notes -** DeSoto was an American automobile brand manufactured by the Chrysler Corporation from 1921 to 1961. It was named after the Spanish explorer, Hernando de Soto.

The idea for Rachel's uncle telling her to drive up into the sugar cane fields to get away from the harbor came from an eyewitness account I read of a young girl who was living in Pearl City on the island of Oahu when the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor.

The Raleigh Haberdashery, commonly called Raleigh's, was a high end men and women's apparel store opened on February 16, 1911 on Pennsylvania Avenue in the Raleigh Hotel. The downtown store moved to 1310 F Street in 1923. The store closed in 1992.

* * *

 **Finally, Howard Paige has made his first and far from last appearance in this story. Pity his secretary, Martha Ellis. She must know about most of the skeletons in her bosses' closet and it is probably quite full of them!**

 **Now Our Detective has his work cut out for him if he wants to know what Rachel is holding back from him.**

 **Many thanks for reading this chapter. Please review if the spirit moves you!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Unforeseen – Chapter 5**

 **Disclaimer** \- _Foyle's War is the creation of Anthony Horowitz. It is brilliant television and the actors are wonderful! My only claim is to the characters I've created for this story._

* * *

Before Foyle could help Rachel remove her coat, she shrugged out of it and let the garment slip off her arms onto the floor. In the same careless fashion, she took off her hat and tossed it on the bed. She turned to face him but didn't dare look up as she mumbled, "I'm a fool. Should have walked away from the big jackass."

When Rachel did look up, he saw humiliation and defeat in her eyes. How he wanted to pull her into his arms! He swallowed hard and shook his head. "Nn …not a fool at all. You did a foolish thing. Could have been seriously hurt." What the "jackass" could have done to her lovely face and more importantly, her spirit, was a disturbing thought

Rachel could no longer fight the tears that misted her eyes and she began to sob. "I'm… so… very… sorry… Mr. Foyle."

It took a mighty effort at restraint not to take her in his arms. Instead, he retrieved a handkerchief from his coat pocket and handed it to her. "No need to apologize. It's alright… not angry with you… just wanted you to be safe." Without a second thought, Rachel threw herself against Foyle's chest and clung to him as if her life depended on it. He put his arms around her and she relaxed into the embrace, no longer caring what he thought of her.

The moments seem to pass slowly and Foyle didn't know anything else to do but continue holding the distraught young woman. When Rachel finally pulled away, he felt a mixture of relief and a desire to continue holding her.

"Better now?" he asked. She nodded "yes" and the motion of her head caused one tear to trickle down her cheek which he brushed away with his thumb. She leaned into his touch and he was nearly undone. He wanted to take her in his arms again and not let go. Foyle's desire warred with his idea of what was proper- he hardly knew the young woman looking up at him and she was so very young!

He gave her a brief but encouraging smile. "Good."

For Rachel, that smile lifted her heart. "Thank you for being so kind and patient with me and…I know this may sound silly…thank you for not leaving me alone." The impulse to wrap her arms around him again was strong but she held back, afraid of really putting him off remaining in her company for good. Instead, she chose to do something else, something to distance herself a few feet away from him for a few minutes. "I'm going to wash my face. Must look a mess."

Her face was a mess all right, with swollen eyes and rivulets of black mascara running down her cheeks, but he certainly wouldn't tell her that! "You'll feel better after you wash you face" was all he said.

She quickly entered the bathroom and closed the door. As soon as he heard water running, Foyle picked up the phone to order tea from Room Service. _"No…need something stronger than tea... At least I do."_ Instead _,_ he ordered whiskey and then sat down in one of the room's two chairs while he waited for Rachel to finish washing her face.

" _Thanks for not leaving me alone."_ Her words repeated over and over in his mind. They were the very essence of vulnerability and fear of rejection. Had someone abandoned her in the past? _"Well…I won't leave her alone."_ Finally, he acknowledged how he truly felt. _"Can't leave her."_

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opened and Foyle looked up from his reverie to see Rachel appear with a clean face, free of makeup. He took a large sip of whiskey and nearly dropped the glass when he put it down on the table.

"My goodness Mr. Foyle, do I look so scary without makeup that I drove you to drink?" As emotionally drained as Rachel felt, she couldn't resist teasing him.

He chewed his bottom lip a few seconds before answering, "Nup." Then he quickly added, "You look just fine. Feel better?"

"Yes sir, I do." She pointed at the untouched glass on the table as she sat down across from him. "Is this one for me?"

"Yeah, thought you might need it."

"Oh boy, do I ever! Thanks."

"Welcome."

Rachel took a sip of whiskey and sat the glass down on the table. She absentmindedly ran a finger around the rim for a full minute before blurting out, "It was the uniform. I mean if that guy hadn't been wearing a sailor's uniform I would have just turned and walked away from him."

"Rachel, what do you mean?"

Her eyes became distant and she groaned as if in physical pain. It was time to tell him about Jimmy and Pearl Harbor. Christopher Foyle patiently waited while Rachel gathered up the strength to relive the day her world shattered

* * *

 _December 7, 1941 - Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory_

 _Rachel managed to navigate the Desoto and its passengers to safety inland above the harbor. She pulled the car off the road next to sugar cane fields that appeared to be endless. She turned off the engine and rested her head against her head against the steering wheel, feeling lightheaded and shaky as the adrenalin that had kept her going on the harrowing drive ebbed away. Her throbbing hand could no longer be ignored as the pain suddenly seemed amplified tenfold. Lifting her head and seeing if her fellow passengers were alright seemed an impossible task. "Oh God, no one is saying anything. Hope they're o.k. I just need to rest a bit before I check on them."_

 _A knock on the driver's side window caused a chorus of screams from Mrs. Pula's children and ear piercing barks from Barney. As Rachel tried to turn her head in the direction of the window she knew she was going to pass out. Hoping the stranger outside the car wasn't an enemy soldier, she made a great effort to stay conscious long enough to stammer, "Ss…someone…find out who it is and what they want." She then gave into the darkness taking hold of her._

 _A cacophony of voices, some close and others distant, competed with the intense, throbbing pain in her right hand in bringing her to consciousness. She slowly opened her eyes and saw two concerned faces hovering over her._

" _Hmm… where am I?"_

 _The response came from a familiar voice. "We're at a sugar plantation, in the owner's house."_

 _Rachel's eyes had not yet focused properly, but she knew Adelaide Simpson was speaking to her. "Mrs. Simpson, how did we get here? The last thing I remember is the kids screaming and Barney barking his head off when someone knocked on the driver's side window."_

" _You passed out my dear. A man who works for the owner brought us here. He was the one who knocked on the car window. He led the way here on his motorcycle and I drove the car."_

 _On the other side of the bed was a large man who appeared to be Hawaiian. "Oh Miss, you sure gave me a fright when you passed out right after I knocked on your window. I saw the blood on you and thought you were a goner!"_

 _Another voice cut in and curtly ordered, "Everyone move away from my patient and let me see to her!" They complied and retreated out of the room in a hurry._

 _Rachel turned her attention to the man now standing over her. He was tall and thin with a shock of unruly white hair and a beard to match. All she could think of were the paintings of God she'd seen in art books and blurted out, "Am I dead, Lord?"_

 _He snorted and then, in a mountain twang that sounded far removed from Hawaii, told her, "Heavens no child! I'm just the fella that patched up your hand. It was a mess."_

 _She absorbed this information and then asked, "Are you a doctor?"_

" _Not exactly…. Well, I'm a doctor of sorts." He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat down. "You've been sewn up by a veterinarian. Isaiah Crawford Long, DVM at your service. Can't guarantee that you won't have an ugly scar. Cows and horses aren't so particular about how they look after surgery. I cleaned the wound thoroughly, applied sulfa powder to it and stitched up your hand as carefully as an old animal doctor could do on a human. Real glad you passed out before I started stitching' up you hand, not sure these old nerves could have stood up to hearing you holler as I was sewing'. You're still in the land of the living and that's a very good thing right now. Don't know what's happened to a lot of folks in the last few hours." He stopped short of saying anything else about the events of that morning because the news on the radio, although sketchy, was devastating. Only God knew how many sailors, soldiers and civilians had been killed or wounded._

 _In the chaos of getting herself and her neighbors to some sort of safety that morning, Rachel had pushed the thought of Jimmy's fate to the farthest corner of her mind. Now that thought seized her with such violence that she cried out "Jimmy" and "no!" over and over until sobs replaced the words._

 _The vet gently but firmly told her, "Young lady, that's enough of that! Not gonna do you any good to fret over whether Jimmy is alive or dead. We just don't know yet. Right now, I want you try to calm down and sleep if you can."_

 _Rachel knew in her heart the man was right and she was too much pain to argue._ " _I'll try Dr. Long… to calm down. Can't promise I'll sleep."_

 _Feeling so completely out of his depth when it came to trying to comfort her, Dr. Long directed his comments to practical matters. "Close your eyes now and rest. I'll check on you in an hour or so. Have someone fetch me if the pain gets worse or you start feelin' feverish."_

" _Yes sir, thank you." Rachel turned over and for the first time since she was a little girl, cried herself to sleep._

* * *

Foyle placed his hand over Rachel's scarred one and said nothing. He understood how difficult it was for her to tell him what had happened to her on that distant December day. Remembering his own experiences in the Great War was hard enough and talking about them filled with him with the dread of reliving them.

"Mr. Foyle, if anyone says they don't believe in Hell, they're a fool. Not knowing if someone is alive or dead is torment."

He nodded his head in agreement. All through the War, not knowing where Andrew was or what dangers he faced was indeed a hellish thing; as was watching his beloved Rosalind fade away in a few short days. He considered the finality of death the cruelest torment of all until he thought again about the agony of not knowing a loved one's fate. It almost made those few days before his wife's passing seem like a sort of terrible gift.

Rachel took a large sip of whiskey and let its warmth work its way down her throat and into her veins. She didn't understand why she still cared for the stuff as she had consumed a fair amount of it as a means of temporary pain relief when nothing else was available after Dr. Long sewed up her hand. Like the scar on her hand, the taste of it would forever remind her of Pearl Harbor, pain and loss.

* * *

 _Rachel's sleep only lasted for an hour or so before her hand began to throb with pain so intense that she sat straight up in the bed and cried out, "Oh God, it hurts. Make it stop, make it stop!"_

 _The sound of many footsteps, followed by a gruff "she don't need everybody and their brother crowding around her right now!" brought her to full consciousness._

 _Dr. Long shooed away everyone who followed him to Rachel's bedside and then pulled a silver flask along with a small bottle from his pants pocket. "I sure wish there wish there was more that I could do for your pain other than give you whiskey and aspirin, but it's all we got right now." He handed her two aspirin tablets and opened the flask. She popped the tablets in her mouth and washed them down with a long swallow of whiskey that made her sputter, then cough._

 _Rachel handed him back the flask as she croaked out, "Whiskey and aspirin don't taste too good together. Thank you. Don't mean to be any trouble."_

 _He shrugged and smiled at her. "No trouble for me. You're a sight prettier than my other patients. I'm gonna leave the whiskey on the table by the bed. You can take another swig or two if need be, just don't drink too much or you'll be sick as a dog. Now lay back down and close those big green eyes."_

 _Whether it was the effect of the aspirin and whiskey or simply the idea that they might give her a bit of relief from the pain, Rachel relaxed and fell into a deep sleep that lasted all afternoon._

 _That evening she wandered into the living room to find most of the adults huddled around the radio, desperate for any scrap of news about the events of that morning. The children were in the dining room with Adelaide Simpson, Dr. Long and the Hawaiian man trying to keep them occupied with card games and art work._

 _Abigail Pula looked up from the picture she'd been drawing and pointed in the direction of the living room. "Look!" She bounded out of chair and grabbed Rachel around the waist. "I was scared Miss Rachel. I thought you might die."_

 _Dr. Long stopped his card game with one of the other children to huff, "Don't be silly. She wasn't gonna die, her hand was hurt bad and I fixed it up. No more talk about anybody dying!"_

 _The little girl broke her hold on Rachel's waist and scurried back to the table. She decided it was best to be quiet because the white haired man hollered a lot when people made a commotion and she didn't want him fussing at her or anyone else, especially Rachel who was hurt._

 _Feeling lightheaded but not wanting to leave the company of other people, Rachel sat beside Abigail and tried to focus on what the children were doing instead of what might have happened to her fiancé._

" _Miss Rachel, would you like to draw a picture with me?"_

" _Oh Abigail, I sure wish I could but…" She held up her right hand. The sight of it, wrapped in bandages made out of an old bed sheet, terrified the child whose dark brown eyes widened and lips trembled._

 _Rachel put her arm around the girl and held her close, while whispering, "It's alright honey. I didn't mean to scare you. I think I should go back to bed now."_

 _Abigail agreed with a solemn nod of her head. "Yeah, so Dr. Long won't fuss at you."_

 _Rachel grinned and winked at her, "I sure don't want to get in trouble with him." She kissed the top of the little girl's head, rose from the table and made her way back to bed._

 _Before laying down, she picked up the vet's flask and took two long swallows of whiskey along with more aspirin. Wondering out loud to no one, she asked, "How much whiskey would it take for me to drink, go to sleep and wake up to find this day was only a horrible nightmare?" Her common sense told her it was impossible, but Rachel proceeded to drink more whiskey and quickly fell into a deep, but fitful sleep._

* * *

"Now you know why my hand has that ugly scar, Mr. Foyle." As memories of being wounded in the Great War played in his mind, he wrapped his fingers around her hand and told her, "Rachel, that scar is a reminder- proof you survived. Never forget that."

The warmth of his fingers radiated through her like a healing balm. "I've never thought about it that way before." Rachel looked down at their hands joined together and then up into his eyes. "You're a very wise man, Mr. Foyle."

He gave her hand a gentle squeeze before telling her, "Just a lot more life experience, that's all."

Suddenly afraid he would let go, Rachel begged, "Don't let go. Please... not just now. I need… I'm sorry…I…"

Instead, Christopher Foyle held her small hand even tighter. In a low voice he promised, "Rachel, I won't let go until you tell me to."

* * *

 **Author's notes-** Dr. Long is so named as tribute to a medical pioneer, Crawford Williamson Long (1815-1880) of Georgia. He is recognized as the first physician to administer ether anesthesia for surgery.

It's difficult now to imagine a world without antibiotics, but there was a time when a small scratch could become septic and lead to death, to say nothing of infectious diseases such as STDs. Sulfonamides were the first anti-microbial drugs and they paved the way for the development of antibiotics. A wide variety of sulfa drugs were available by the late 1930's. Our Dr. Long would have made use of it in his veterinary practice.

Although Scottish scientist, Alexander Fleming, is credited for the discovery of Penicillin in 1928, a way to mass produce it was not found until 1943. A little over 2 million doses were available in time for the invasion of Normandy in the spring of 1944. It only became available for civilian use after World War II ended.

As always, I appreciate my Readers' support! Reviews are welcome. 😊


	6. Chapter 6

**bUnforeseen- Chapter 6**

 **Disclaimer-** Foyle's War is the brilliant creation of Anthony Horowitz and the wonderful actors that make his work come alive. I own nothing but a deep affection for the show and the original characters created for this story.

* * *

Rachel trembled, shaking the table so hard that Foyle had to grab their whiskey glasses with his free hand to keep them from crashing to the floor. A miserable feeling wormed its way downward to the pit of his stomach. He'd only intended to comfort her, but he began to wonder if he'd done the right thing in holding her hand.

 _"Rachel, I won't let go until you tell me to."_ It sounded like the declaration of a lovesick schoolboy. He was immediately consumed with regret. Had he lost all common sense and restraint when he crossed the Atlantic and landed in America? What an old fool he'd become! Cautiously he asked, "Rachel is something wrong? Are you alright?"

"Nothing's wrong. I'm alright." What a lie! She mentally berated her body for betraying her. How did he know her and yet not know her?

Rachel finished off the whiskey remaining in her glass with one gulp that temporarily took her breath away. She lied again, telling him, "Just tired, that's all. Anyway, there's not much more to tell. It's ok if you want to leave now."

Slowly he rose from his chair, grabbed his coat and hat and headed to the door. Of all people, Christopher Foyle was a master in keeping his past and its sorrows buried deep within his heart and mind. Even though he had no right to insist she continue, there was no doubt that her story was incomplete.

The moment before his fingertips made contact with door knob, he pivoted on his right foot to face her. "Rachel, you're lying. You're far from alright."

Damn the man! Would he insist she tell him more or would he be the gentleman she believed him to be and leave as she'd asked? Rachel clutched the empty whiskey glass in her right hand, deciding whether to throw it at him or the wall. What right did he have to know more than she'd already told him?

He approached the table, pausing long enough to toss his hat and coat on the foot of the bed, and gently pried the glass from her hand. "There's something you haven't told me, isn't there?"

Oh God! Why couldn't he just accept that she'd wasn't willing to say anything else about her Pearl Harbor experience? She wanted him to leave her alone. There was pain that she didn't want to relive. "We're strangers to each other. Why should you even care? You're not obligated to stay. I've managed the last five years not talking about what happened in December 1941. My own parents don't know that… Jimmy and I … that…" She knew there was no escape from painful memories, whether she shared them with Foyle or kept them buried deep within. "You're right sir. I lied to you. There's more to tell and keeping it in won't change what happened."

* * *

 _December 8, 1941 Island of Oahu, Hawaii Territory_

 _6:25 am_

 _Rachel's head throbbed and every inch of her body ached as she shuffled into the living room. Everyone occupying the house that morning was crowded around the radio waiting to hear President Roosevelt address a joint session of Congress. Seeing no place to sit, she perched on the edge of Dr. Long's chair. He glanced at her and shook his head in disapproval. She shrugged, making it plain that she had no intention of returning to bed. Instead, she looked over his shoulder, trying to read the headlines of the newspaper lying on his lap. It was the December 8th edition of the Honolulu Star-Bulletin. The headline reading "War declared on Japan by US" didn't interest her as much as the article "3,000 casualties are indicated on Oahu" and the list of dead and injured next to it._

" _Young lady, didn't your mama tell you reading over someone's shoulder was rude?" Isaiah folded the newspaper and stuffed it under his arm. She'd learn her Jimmy's fate all too soon._

 _On the radio the Speaker of the House, Sam Rayburn of Texas, announced, "Senators and Representatives, I have the distinguished honor of presenting the President of the United States."_

 _President Roosevelt began his speech, "Mr. Vice President, Mr. Speaker, Members of the Senate, and of the House of Representatives:_

 _Yesterday, December 7th, 1941 - a date which will live in infamy - the United States of America was suddenly and deliberately attacked by naval and air forces of the Empire of Japan._

 _The United States was at peace with that nation and, at the solicitation of Japan, was still in conversation with its government and its emperor looking toward the maintenance of peace in the Pacific._

 _Indeed, one hour after Japanese air squadrons had commenced bombing in the American island of Oahu, the Japanese ambassador to the United States and his colleague delivered to our Secretary of State a formal reply to a recent American message. And while this reply stated that it seemed useless to continue the existing diplomatic negotiations, it contained no threat or hint of war or of armed attack._

 _It will be recorded that the distance of Hawaii from Japan makes it obvious that the attack was deliberately planned many days or even weeks ago. During the intervening time, the Japanese government has deliberately sought to deceive the United States by false statements and expressions of hope for continued peace._

 _The attack yesterday on the Hawaiian Islands has caused severe damage to American naval and military forces. I regret to tell you that very many American lives have been lost. In addition, American ships have been reported torpedoed on the high seas between San Francisco and Honolulu._

 _Yesterday, the Japanese government also launched an attack against Malaya._

 _Last night, Japanese forces attacked Hong Kong._

 _Last night, Japanese forces attacked Guam._

 _Last night, Japanese forces attacked the Philippine Islands._

 _Last night, the Japanese attacked Wake Island._

 _And this morning, the Japanese attacked Midway Island._

 _Japan has, therefore, undertaken a surprise offensive extending throughout the Pacific area. The facts of yesterday and today speak for themselves. The people of the United States have already formed their opinions and well understand the implications to the very life and safety of our nation._

 _As Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy, I have directed that all measures be taken for our defense. But always will our whole nation remember the character of the onslaught against us._

 _No matter how long it may take us to overcome this premeditated invasion, the American people in their righteous might will win through to absolute victory._

 _I believe I interpret the will of the Congress and the people when I assert that we will not only defend ourselves to the uttermost, but will make it very certain that this form of treachery shall never again endanger us._

 _Hostilities exist. There is no blinking at the fact that our people, our territory and our interests are in grave danger._

 _With confidence in our armed forces, with the unbounding determination of our people, we will gain the inevitable triumph—so help us God._

 _I ask that Congress declare that since the unprovoked and dastardly attack by Japan on Sunday, December 7, 1941, a state of war has existed between the United States and the Japanese empire."_

 _Someone switched off the radio and the crowd surrounding it was no longer silent. Every other sentence contained "we're in it now" or "it was just a matter of time". The awful reality of war was more than she could bear and all she wanted right then was to retreat to the bedroom. As she stood up a wave of dizziness caught her by surprise. She clutched at Dr. Long's arm and whispered, "Dr. Long, I don't feel so good."_

 _He rose from the chair and led her out of the living room, "Well, I'm not surprised. You've no business being out of bed… and… you reek of whiskey! My God girl, I didn't expect you to drink all of it… just enough to help you sleep!"_

" _Dr. Long, I'm sorry. All I was trying to do was stop hurting… and…"_

" _Escape?"_

" _Yes sir. How did you know?"_

" _I've tried it myself, doesn't work. Once the booze is gone, reality comes hammering down on you with a vengeance. It's better to accept whatever's happened and not drown yourself in a bottle."_

 _Rachel braced her head against the wall in an attempt to keep the room from spinning and responded with, "So I'm supposed to accept that my fiancé, who is also the father of the child inside me, is probably dead… And that's o.k.?"_

 _The pregnancy news caught Dr. Long off guard for half a beat. He exhaled a long sigh before telling her, "No Rachel, it's not O.K.…It's not o.k. that your fiancé might be dead… that you're expecting a baby who might grow up without a father and… the Japs bombed the hell out of us yesterday morning! I'm just saying this stuff happened and nothing's ever going to be the way it was before…and we can't change that."_

" _So that's it? Just accept all the awful things thrown our way? I just can't…" Rachel doubled over as a sudden cramp seized her lower abdomen. "Oh God! Feels like someone just twisted my insides." Another cramp accompanied with a sticky wetness on her upper thighs cut short anything else she was going to say. Instead, she rushed to the house's only bathroom and was grateful to find it unoccupied._

 _Dr. Long was out of his depth. Sewing up a hand was one thing, but the trouble she was having at that moment was something else… some female trouble was his guess. As an only child, motherless since he was five and a lifelong bachelor he had no frame of reference for the inner workings of the human female. He bellowed in the direction of the living room, "Mrs. Simpson and Mrs. Pula, come here quick!"_

 _Both women immediately responded to his summons and before he could take flight from the scene Mrs. Pula ordered, "Go see to my children while Adelaide and I look after Rachel."_

" _Now look woman, I'm not a danged babysitter!"_

 _Adelaide Simpson gave him a mighty shove and barked, "Well you are now, old man!"_

 _As he stomped away, muttering curses under his breath, Leilani Pula added, "And don't be cursing in front of my kids!"_

 _Dr. Long shot her the evil eye and walked away._

 _Once he was out of earshot, Rachel opened the bathroom door to let the women in. The young woman's pale face and a small, red puddle marring the white tile floor alarmed Leilani. She softly asked, "Sweetie, what's happening…I mean… the blood… do you bleed heavy when it's that time of the month?"_

" _No ma'am…I mean that it's not that… I'm expecting…."_

 _Adelaide brushed a curl away from Rachel's face and stroked her cheek. "Are you sure? Have you seen a doctor? Did… ah… does Jimmy know?"_

" _Yes, yes he does… he did..." Now someone besides Uncle Frank knew her secret and one of the reasons she and Jimmy had planned to marry so quickly. Rachel's body shook as she succumbed to the overwhelming fear that there would be no wedding because she felt certain that he'd been snatched away from her in the attack on Pearl Harbor. Now it seemed that the child she carried would be taken from her, too. Everything and everyone Rachel wanted at that moment- Jimmy and her uncle were beyond reach. "Am I going to lose my baby?"_

 _The question tore at Leilani's heart as she pulled the distraught young woman into her arms. "Oh child, I don't know for sure. It could be, but I'm not a doctor. All we can do is wait and see."_

 _December 9, 1941 Queen's Hospital, Honolulu, Oahu, Hawaii Territory_

 _8 am_

 _After 48 hours of assisting the medical staff of Queen's Hospital with a constant stream of wounded and dying servicemen and civilians, the Reverend Frank Broussard believed that Hell's anteroom began in the lobby of the Queen's Hospital and stretched out to infinity. He'd hardly had time to breathe, sit or stand still since Sunday morning. Finally able to take a break, he sat on a bench by the hospital entrance and permitted his thoughts to turn to his niece and neighbors. Had they made it inland to a safer place? He could only hope and pray they were alright._

 _He prayed often and it had always been a source of comfort and strength, but a growing concern for Rachel's safety made it seem ineffectual. If he couldn't pray, he would busy himself with hospital work to crowd out the anxiety that was growing inside him. As he stood up to go back inside, a car pulled up to the hospital entrance. Frank immediately recognized the car as his own but the driver was an elderly man he didn't recognize. Where was Rachel and why was a stranger driving his car?_

 _The devastation he'd seen along the drive from the sugar plantation shook Isaiah Long to the core. It wasn't just the sight of battered and bombed ships in the Harbor that disturbed him. There were so many wounded and dying service personnel that schools and other public buildings had become make shift hospitals. He'd already been turned away from several of them and decided to go to the Queen's Hospital in Honolulu to find medical help for the young woman. Over the course of Monday her blood loss had steadily increased and she'd become quite weak. Never had he felt as helpless as he did that morning after having been turned away from three of those makeshift hospitals. Since the Queen's Hospital was the civilian hospital on Oahu, his hope was that they would be able to take care of her._

 _As Frank approached the car he saw what looked like a child wrapped in a blood stained blanket on the front seat. Only when he opened the passenger side door did he realize it was his niece, frighteningly pale and barely conscious. Before the driver could say anything or get out of the car, Frank scooped her up into his arms, whispering, "Oh Rachel, what's happened to you?"_

 _She blinked several times and whimpered, "Uncle Frank?"_

" _Yes sweetheart, it's me."_

 _Rachel buried her face against his chest and threw her right arm over his left shoulder. He caught a glimpse of the stitches on her hand and wondered what had happened to her and who had sewn up the wound?_

 _Seeing the fear and confusion in Frank's eyes prompted Dr. Long to tell him, "I sewed up her hand. Something flying around in the air Sunday morning ripped it open. It was a mighty nasty lookin' wound."_

" _Are you a doctor Mister…?"_

" _Name's Isaiah Long and I'm a doctor of sorts… an animal doctor. I think her hand will heal alright, but it's not the reason I brought her here. She needs medical help for another problem." He glanced down at Rachel, swaddled with the blood stained blanket. "And there's not a moment to waste."_

 _10:30 am_

" _Sure hope that helps her." Isaiah rolled down his shirt sleeve and sat next to Frank on a bench in the hospital lobby._

 _For the first time in two days Frank let his guard down and pulled the once white clerical collar from his neck, looking down at his hands for a moment. He looked up at the man seated beside him, struggling for the right words to say. "D…don't know what to say…how to thank you…my late wife and I never had children and Rachel…is like a daughter to me."_

" _Frank, I'm sure glad I have O negative blood. I can donate to anyone, no matter their blood type. Someone up there is looking out for your niece."_

" _Yes…if only it was that simple though. The transfusion will help her with the blood loss, but nothing can change what's happened to her. From what I've gleaned from the newspaper and radio reports, it's most likely that Jimmy died when the Arizona was bombed. As for the baby…well you know what the doctor told us…she'll lose it. Don't know how to help her now."_

 _Isaiah put a comforting hand on Frank's shoulder as he told him, "Never had a wife or a daughter so my advice may not be worth much but here goes- Take her home, look after the girl and love her. Her body will heal soon but it will take her heart a lot longer."_

 _June 1, 1942_

 _For six months Frank had witnessed Rachel move through the days like an automaton. She performed her tasks at home and church with a minimal amount of effort and communication. The letters her parents sent her were left unanswered. He had written to them in his niece's stead, making excuses that skirted the thin edge of truth. The only thing she'd been adamant about was that they never know of her pregnancy and miscarriage, unlike Jimmy's death, which was known to everyone as soon as a list of those who died in the attack on Pearl Harbor had been published. He couldn't understand why she wouldn't share her sorrow over the lost child with her parents._

 _The telegram his brother in law sent that day prodded him to take action and push his niece to respond to her parents. "Rachel, you have to go home. Your folks need you."_

 _As had become her daily ritual, Rachel stood at the manse's living room window gazing out to the harbor. Without turning to face her uncle, she asked, "Why? Don't you want me here anymore?"_

" _Rachel, look at me."_

 _She complied with his request and slowly turned to face him, the anger and confusion in her eyes revealing a spark of life he'd not seen for a long time. "Uncle Frank, am I becoming a burden to you? Maybe, I'm not pulling my weight around here like I should but that's no reason to kick me out!"_

 _He shook his head and sighed, "No, no my dear child. You're not a burden. I love you dearly. Don't want you to leave, but didn't you hear me say your parents need you?"_

 _He handed her the telegram. As she read it the anger he'd seen in the emerald depths of her eyes changed to fear. "I don't understand. Daddy says Mama is not well but he doesn't say what's wrong with her."_

 _Even though George had not given any details about his wife's illness, Frank was sure he knew what was wrong. He'd witnessed Marguerite's illness a few years before Rachel was born. It had taken a long time for her to recover. If his niece didn't know about it, he didn't feel it was his place to tell her. She had to return to Charleston to find out. "Rachel, some things just can't be explained in a telegram."_

" _I've got to home to find out." She buried face against her uncle's chest and cried._

 _Frank Broussard gently patted her back and murmured, "Yes, you do."_

* * *

That was enough! No matter how much time passed, the story was not going to change and elaborating on the details only brought fresh pain. She hurriedly finished with "I returned to Charleston and stayed there until a few days ago."

A quick glance out her hotel room window revealed that it was late afternoon. "My God… Mr. Foyle, it's late! Surely you didn't come to the States to be "assaulted" by a strange young woman and hear her sad story. You deserve a medal for kindness above and beyond the call of a gentleman!"

He blinked and his lips formed a half smile. "Wull….wouldn't say you assaulted me… just an accident."

" _This man deserves to be loved… deeply… Was there a woman in his life who loved him in that way?"_ The thought took Rachel by surprise. She knew so little about Christopher Foyle. How could she come to such a conclusion in the 48 hours they'd been together? Nothing in her life had prepared her for this man!

"Rachel?"

A sudden flush of embarrassment colored her face. If he could read her mind, he would know the silly romantic thoughts that had materialized there. "Oh… sorry, Sir. My mind wandered for a moment. Guess I really am tired now."

"Need to rest?"

"Yes sir, I believe I do. I'm exhausted, body and spirit."

He rose from his seat, grabbed his coat and hat. Knowing the course of his trip to America was now irreparably altered, he wondered how meeting Rachel Roberts would affect his pursuit in bringing Howard Paige to justice. She wasn't the only one who needed rest!

As he rose to leave, Foyle asked her, "Dinner in a hour?"

"Yes, sir. That's sounds fine."

"Let me know when you're ready."

"I will."

"Rest well, Rachel."

Foyle exited the room. As the door clicked shut, Rachel wasn't sure she'd rest at all. All her being had been stirred up and she didn't know how to settle down. It wasn't just reliving the events of Pearl Harbor; it was this man who'd suddenly come into her life. Was she falling for him? What a foolish notion!

* * *

 **Historical note-** The famous "Infamy" speech was delivered to a joint session (the House of Representatives and the Senate) of Congress by President Franklin Roosevelt on December 8, 1941- just one day after the Japanese attack on Pearl Harbor.

Within an hour of the speech a formal declaration of war against Japan was passed by the Congress, formally bringing the United States into the Second World War.

* * *

Thanks for reading. Reviews are greatly appreciated!


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